MARIE   TELLS   THE   STORY 
The  Babushka,  Page  209 


CHRISTMAS  CANDLES 

Plays  for  Boys  and  Girls 


BY 

ELSIE  HOBART  CARTER 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 
1915 


Copyright,  1915. 

BY 
HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 


Published  November,  igis 
Printed,  November,  1922 


PRINTED    IN    THE    U    S    A.  BY 

THE    QUINN    a    BODEN    COMPANY 
RAHWAY      N     J 


To  the  memory  of 

w.  N.  H. 
who  loved  both  plays 

and  players 


22249S5 


Thanks  are  due  to  The  Century  Company ;  Mr.  Tudor 
Jenks;  Miss  K.  A.  Prichard;  Mrs.  Mary  Wilkins  Free- 
man; the  Lothrop,  Lee  &  Shepard  Company;  Colonel 
Thomas  E.  Davis;  Miss  Gertrude  Hall;  Harper  & 
Brothers ;  the  John  Church  Company ;  and  the  Universal- 
ist  Publishing  House,  for  permission  to  use  copyrighted 
material,  as  particularly  acknowledged  throughout  the 
book. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

SUGGESTIONS  FOR  PRODUCTION  xv 

I.  THE  CHRIST-CANDLE.    In  Two  Scenes   .       .         i 

Seventeen  characters:  Two,  the  mother  and  St. 
Nicholas,  played  by  adults;  seven  boys  and 
four  girls  from  six  to  twelve  years;  four  boys, 
or  three  boys  and  a  girl,  fourteen  to  eighteen. 
Important  parts  fall  to  three  of  the  younger 
children,  two  boys  and  one  girl,  and  the  Star- 
Child  must  be  able  to  sing  alone. 

Setting:  ist.  Snow-scene  in  forest. 

2nd.  Interior, — a  poor  hovel. 
Time  of  playing:  40  minutes. 

This  play  makes  use  of  the  old  German  belief 
that  the  Christ-Child  returns  to  earth  each 
Christmas  Eve  to  seek  shelter  among  men.  A 
little  waif,  lost  in  the  snow,  is  refused  help  by 
the  selfishness  of  happiness,  of  ill-temper,  of 
poverty,  of  riches,  and  is  at  last  received  by 
two  little  children  who  take  him  for  the  Holy 
Child  indeed. 

II.  TOINETTE  AND  THE  ELVES.      In   Two  Acts    .          31 

Ten  characters:  Mother's  part  taken  by  an 
adult;  three  girls  and  two  boys  from  six  to 
fifteen;  four  very  little  boys  for  elves. 

Setting:  Quaint  cottage  interior. 
Time  of  playing:  30  minutes. 

Toinette,    pretty,    dreamy,    and    self-absorbed, 
tries  the  Elves'   Christmas-Eve  gift  of  fern- 
seed,  to  make  her  invisible,  and  learns  that 
vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

the  little  brothers  a  d  s'sters  do  not  love  an 
impatient  and  u.,k!.id  older  one.  Much 
grieved,  she  tries  through  the  year  to  correct 
her  faults,  but  is  almost  afraid  to  repeat  the 
experiment  when  the  Elves  again  bring  their 
gift.  The  friendly  Elves  urge  her,  and  the 
result  is  so  happy  that  Toinette  and  the  Elves 
have  a  gay  little  celebration  all  by  themselves. 

III.  TOM'S  PLAN.    In  Two  Acts       ...       53 

Nine  characters:  One  adult,  for  Santa  Claus; 
four  boys  and  four  girls  from  six  to  fifteen 
years.  Chief  part  by  a  boy  of  eight  or  nine. 

Setting:  One  simple  interior. 
Time  of  playing:  25  minutes. 

Tom,  hearing  that  Santa  Claus  will  bring 
sticks  or  ashes  to  children  who  are  bad,  can 
think  of  no  way  to  test  the  disturbing  state- 
ment, except  to  be  as  naughty  as  he  knows 
how.  But  Santa  Claus  explains  matters. 

IV.  THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY.    In  Two  Acts  .       73 

Characters:  One  adult  for  Santa  Claus;  five 
older  children,  two  boys  and  three  girls;  two 
boys  and  two  girls,  seven  to  nine  years  for 
the  important  parts,  and  a  dozen  children 
from  four  to  ten,  with  no  speaking  parts. 

Setting:  ist.  A  winter  street-scene. 

2nd.  Simple  interior. 
Time  of  playing:  35  minutes. 

Dick  and  Dot,  a  lonely  little  brother  and 
sister,  decide  to  share  their  Christmas  with 
two  poor  children,  while  several  older  friends, 
hearing  the  children's  wish  for  a  Christmas 
Party,  plan,  independently  of  each  other,  to 
arrange  for  one.  The  result  is  a  Christmas 
surprise  for  everyone. 


CONTENTS  ix 

PAGE 

V.  THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE.    In  One  Act    .      95 

Twenty-four  characters:  Santa  Claus;  three 
older  children  lor  adults,  one  boy  and  two 
girls;  three  boys  and  three  girls  from  five  to 
twelve,  the  important  parts  being  for  two  boys 
of  ten ;  four  little  boys  and  two  little  girls, 
and  eight  children  who  can  sing,  for  the 
tableaux  of  the  Christmas  dream. 

Setting:  Simple  interior. 
Time  of  playing:  40  minutes. 

Santa  Claus'  Brownie  allows  Ted  to  help  fill 
the  stockings,  with  a  result  that  perplexes  and 
disturbs  their  owners,  and  teaches  Ted  that  it 
takes  thoughtfulness  as  well  as  good  will  to 
make  people  happy.  The  Brownie's  especial 
gift  to  Ted  is  a  Christmas  Dream. 

VI.  A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS.    In  Two  Acts      .     121 

Twenty  characters:  Seven  boys  and  four  girls, 
from  five  to  twelve  years ;  the  mother,  and 
other  adult  Colonists,  taken  by  boys  and  girls 
from  seventeen  to  twenty. 

Setting:  One  interior,  a  small  cabin  in  the 

early  days  of  the  Colonies. 
Time  of  playing:  45  minutes. 

The  little  Puritan  family,  hearing  from  their 
young  mother  of  happy  Christmas  in  Old  Eng- 
land, decide  on  a  celebration  of  their  own. 
The  Colonists,  surprising  them,  are  very 
angry,  and  inclined  to  severe  punishment, 
until  a  little  Indian  boy,  who  has  been  be- 
friended by  Mistress  Delight  and  her  children, 
shows  that,  for  the  sake  of  her  kindness  to 
him,  the  settlement  has  been  spared  a  dreaded 
Indian  raid.  The  peace  and  good  will  of 


x  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Christmas  touch  the  stern  hearts  of  the  Puri- 
tans, and  they  end  by  a  friendly  sharing  of 
the  festival. 

VII.  THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS.    In  Three  Acts     149 

Twenty-five  characters,  all  but  two  with 
speaking  parts.  Two  may  double.  One  adult 
for  the  Abbot.  Eight  older  boys,  four  older 
girls.  Seven  boys,  five  girls,  from  five  to  ten 
years. 

Setting:  ist.  Roadway,    outside    the    Con- 
vent walls. 

2nd.  The  Christmas  garden. 

3rd.  Chapel  of  the  Convent. 
Time  of  playing:  50  minutes. 

It  is  unknown  to  many  people  that  the  Christ- 
mas toys  grow  from  seed  in  the  garden  of  the 
Christmas  Monks.  The  play  relates  the  ad- 
ventures of  the  Prince,  Peter,  and  Peter's  little 
sister,  in  this  wonderful  place. 

VIII.  THE    SPELL    OF    CHRISTMAS.     In    Two 

Scenes 179 

Fourteen  characters:  Eight  boys  and  six  girls, 
from  six  to  sixteen  years.  Also  a  few  voices 
for  the  singing  of  the  Waits'  carol  off  stage. 

Setting:    Two    scenes — Seventeenth    Cen- 
tury interiors. 
Time  of  playing:  45  minutes. 

The  old  belief  that  at  midnight  on  Christmas 
Eve  the  family  portraits  come  to  life,  step 
down  from  their  places,  and  join  hands  in  a 
stately  dance,  leads  the  children  to  slip  out  of 
their  beds  at  an  unwonted  hour,  and  so  to 
take  a  hand  in  the  adventures  of  their  elders, 
quite  beyond  their  ken. 


CONTENTS  xi 

PAGE 

IX.  THE  BABUSHKA.    A  Russian  Legend,  in  One 

Scene 209 

Twenty-four  characters:  One  adult,  or  older 
girl,  able  to  bring  intelligence  and  sympathy  to 
the  part  of  the  mysterious  Babushka;  two 
men,  or  older  boys;  five  boys  and  four  girls, 
from  six  to  fourteen;  and  village  children, 
five  boys,  seven  girls.  One  of  the  men  and 
one  boy,  the  village  fiddlers,  should  be  able  to 
play  their  violins  to  accompany  the  carol. 

Setting:  Interior, — a  Russian  hovel. 
Time  of  playing:  30  minutes. 

Tells  the  story  of  the  strange  old  woman, 
who,  refusing  at  the  Wise  Men's  call  to  fol- 
low the  Star  to  the  manger  of  the  new-born 
Christ,  has  ever  since  in  the  winter  season 
wandered  over  the  world,  seeking  in  every 
nursery,  in  every  cradle,  for  the  Holy  Child. 

X.  A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS.    In  Two  Acts.    For 

a  Boys'  Club 235 

Fourteen  characters:  Twelve  boys,  twelve  to 
sixteen;  two  little  boys,  six  and  eight. 

Setting:  One   scene,   interior  of   a   circus 

tent. 
Time  of  playing:  40  minutes. 

Two  little  farm  boys  who  have  never  seen 
either  a  circus  or  a  Christmas  tree,  creep  into 
the  tent  just  as  the  discontented  men  are  plan- 
ning rebellion  against  their  leader.  The 
Christmas  spirit  of  friendliness  softens  not 
only  the  men,  but  the  surly  ringmaster,  and 
the  strict  and  severe  father  of  the  boys. 


xii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

XI.  MINTY-MALVINY'S  SANTA  CLAUS.    In  One 

Act 265 

Seven  characters:  Three  adults,  two  men,  one 
woman;  four  children,  three  girls,  and  one 
boy,  six  to  ten  years.  The  important  part  of 
the  pickaninny  taken  by  a  girl  of  ten. 

Setting:  Modern  interior. 
Time  of  playing:  25  minutes. 

Minty-Malviny,  the  little  black  drudge  of  an 
old-time  New  Orleans  boarding-house,  falls 
asleep  on  the  rug  of  a  handsome  sitting-room, 
and  waking,  takes  the  owner  for  Ole  Marse 
Santa  Claus  himself.  Her  faith  inspires  him 
to  play  the  part. 

XII.  THE  HUNDRED.    In  One  Act     .       .     .       283 

Six  characters:  Five  women,  one  little  girl  of 
eight  or  nine,  who  must  be  able  to  carry  an 
important  part. 

Setting:  Mrs.  Darling's  dressing-room. 
Time  of  playing:  50  minutes. 

Mrs.  Darling,  a  charming  young  widow  with 
a  quick  temper,  has  dressed  a  hundred  dolls 
for  an  Orphan  Asylum.  On  Christmas  Eve, 
Sally,  the  kitchen-maid,  brings  a  little  East- 
side  friend  to  see  the  dolls,  one  of  which  is 
accidentally  broken,  to  the  consternation  of 
the  household.  But  Mrs.  Darling  is  not  the 
ogress  the  servants  believe  her,  and  Tibby 
goes  home  happy,  with  her  arms  full  of 
dollies. 

GENERAL  NOTES 313 

SUGGESTIONS  FOR  CAROLS  .       .      >•      ,..    315 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

MARIE  TELLS  THE  STORY.    [The  Babushka.']  .       .      Frontispiece 

FACING 

PAGE 

HANS  AND  GRETEL.     [The  Christmas-Candle.']       ...  3 

HOLLYBERRY.     \_Toinette  and  the  Elves.']       ....  33 

THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY 75 

THE  BROWNIE.     [The  Christmas  Brownie.]   ....  97 

PRUDENCE.     EAGLEFEATHER.  .   [A  Puritan   Christmas.]       .  123 

THE  PRINCE.     PETER  AND  THE  PRINCE.     [The   Christmas 

Monks.] 151 

ALLISON.     [The  Spell  of  Christmas.] 181 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  PRODUCTION 

These  little  plays  were  written  for  the  classes  and 
clubs  of  a  small  Sunday-school,  where  the  Christmas 
celebration  consisted  of  a  play  to  introduce  Santa  Claus 
and  a  Christmas-tree.  They  are  equally  suitable  for 
children  at  home  or  in  day  schools,  and  they  have  been 
so  used. 

In  most  of  the  plays  children  greatly  enjoy  playing 
the  adult  parts  and  do  good  work  in  them.  But  several 
of  the  adult  roles  call  for  adult  players,  because  a  deeper 
appreciation  of  the  feeling  contained  in  the  story  is 
required  than  can  be  given  by  girls  in  their  teens.  Such 
parts  are  the  Babushka,  the  Mother  in  "  The  Christ- 
Candle,"  and  the  Mother  in  "  Toinette."  Partly  for 
the  same  reason,  a  man  should  be  chosen  for  the  Abbot 
in  "  The  Christmas  Monks,"  but  also  his  presence  will 
lend  dignity,  and  much  greater  orderliness  to  rehearsals 
in  a  play  with  a  large  cast. 

The  last  two  plays,  adapted  from  stories  by  well- 
known  writers,  "  Minty-Malviny's  Santa  Claus "  and 
"  The  Hundred,"  were  not  especially  intended  for  chil- 
dren, but  as  parlor  plays  for  home  production.  These 
two  throw  heavier  work  upon  a  single  child  than  any 
of  the  other  plays,  but  though  they  were  made  with 
special  children  in  view,  it  would  not  be  difficult  to  find, 
in  any  group  of  children,  a  little  girl  who  could  play 
"  Minty  "  or  "  Tibbie  "  as  well  as  those  for  whom  the 
parts  were  first  made. 

The   length  of  the  cast  in  some  of   the  plays  need 


xvl      SUGGESTIONS  FOR  PRODUCTION 

not  be  daunting,  as  the  principal  characters  are  usually 
few,  the  minor  ones  often  having  been  introduced  in 
answer  to  the  frequent  pleading  "  May  /  be  in  the 
'  show  '  this  year?  "  Though  some  of  the  parts  are  rather 
long,  none  are  in  the  least  calculated  to  strain  the  actors 
in  any  way — children  act  them  with  zest  and  absolute 
naturalness.  Very  little  children  have  sometimes  done 
remarkable  work  in  them — the  very  youngest,  a  tiny  girl 
of  four,  cast  for  "  Rosalia  "  in  "  The  Christmas  Monks," 
played  also  another  part  at  twenty-four  hours'  notice, 
when  a  little  cousin  inopportunely  came  down  with 
measles  on  Christmas  Eve.  The  two  children  had  studied 
together,  and  little  "  Rosalia  "  knew  "  Peggy's  "  part  as 
well  as  her  own. 

LIGHTING.  No  one  factor  is  more  important  for  suc- 
cess in  producing  children's  plays  than  adequate  lighting. 
No  matter  how  charmingly  the  setting  and  costuming 
may  be  carried  out,  no  matter  how  well  the  children  may 
act  their  parts,  if  the  audience  cannot  see  them  easily,  the 
pains  and  trouble  of  the  stage  force,  the  best  efforts  of 
the  children,  will  be  lost.  This  is  an  individual  problem, 
each  case  varying  so  much  from  the  next  that  definite 
directions  to  fit  all  cases  cannot  well  be  given.  But  the 
importance  of  this  one  factor  can  hardly  be  overestimated. 
Fortunate  indeed  is  the  miniature  stage  with  footlights 
and  upper  lights  so  arranged  that  red  and  white  bulbs 
are  controlled  by  different  switches,  each  switch  having 
also  a  dimmer.  Nor  are  these  things  so  expensive  as  to 
be  beyond  even  rather  moderate  means,  especially  if 
included  in  the  original  equipment  of  the  stage.  It  is 
more  often  from  lack  of  experience  than  because  of  their 
initial  cost  that  they  are  omitted. 

STAGE  SETTINGS.    Through  the  same  lack  of  experi- 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  PRODUCTION     xvii 

ence  or  forethought,  settings  are  often  provided  which 
are  of  use  in  the  minimum  instead  of  the  maximum  num- 
ber of  plays.  The  simplest  cottage  interior  is  more 
adaptable,  and  can  be  used  in  a  greater  number  of  in- 
stances than  the  most  attractive  of  more  pronounced 
"  sets."  It  is  therefore  invaluable  for  a  small  stage,  where 
perhaps  but  one  indoor  and  one  outdoor  scene  must  cover 
all  requirements.  All  but  two  of  the  plays  in  this  volume 
have  been  acted  upon  such  a  little  stage. 

DELAYS.  Another  point  of  real  importance  is  to  avoid 
delays.  The  director  should  make  every  effort  to  this 
end  by  attention  to  the  smallest  details  beforehand,  by 
preparedness  when  the  time  of  performance  comes,  and 
by  perfect  control  of  the  stage  forces.  Lateness  in  be- 
ginning, and  long  waits  between  scenes,  are  tedious  to 
any  audience.  They  do  much  to  dampen  enthusiasm  and 
destroy  otherwise  happy  impressions.  Care  and  fore- 
thought, practice  for  those  who  are  to  handle  scenery,  and 
system  in  the  arrangement  of  properties  and  costumes 
will  go  a  long  way  towards  the  elimination  of  this  dif- 
ficulty. 

COSTUMES  AND  PROPERTIES.  In  giving  stage  direc- 
tions and  descriptions  of  costumes,  the  effort  has  been 
towards  suggestiveness  rather  than  too  great  definiteness, 
and  strict  adherence  to  all  details  is  not  necessary  or  in- 
tended. It  is  most  important  to  keep  the  Christmas  spirit 
of  the  play  from  being  smothered  in  the  mechanics  of 
production.  Setting  and  costuming  may  be  elaborate  or 
simple,  and  every  director  will  know  his  or  her  own  re- 
sources. Groups  of  people  interested  in  such  work  are 
apt  to  accumulate  sets  of  costumes,  odd  properties,  even 
pieces  of  furniture,  which  are  convertible  to  many  other 
uses  than  those  for  which  they  were  made.  Few  things 


xviii    SUGGESTIONS  FOR  PRODUCTION 

are  really  impossible  to  compass  if  one  is  set  upon  them. 
A  friendly  janitor  will  spend  his  leisure  upon  stage-car- 
pentry. Friends  rise  up — or  may  be  sought — who  are 
interested  enough  to  lend  their  treasures,  or  to  use  their 
talents.  One  will  draw  a  latticed  window  which  may 
be  pinned  or  basted  upon  a  bit  of  plain  wall;  another 
will  manufacture  a  scutcheon  for  the  decoration  of  a 
medieval  hall,  or  even  paint  a  sea  scene  before  which 
Alice,  the  Gryphon,  and  the  Mock-Turtle  may  disport 
themselves. 

MATERIALS.  Gifts  of  old  silk  gowns,  or  even  scraps 
of  material,  can  all  be  utilized  in  some  way.  And  in 
this  connection,  a  word  must  be  said  as  to  the  value  of 
real  things.  Use  cheese-cloth,  cambric,  and  canton- 
flannel  if  you  must — a  good  variety  of  color  may  be 
found  in  them;  canton-flannel  is  heavy,  and  hangs  well, 
and  up  to  a  certain  point  they  are  all  effective.  But  if 
better  things  can  be  had,  through  gift  or  loan,  it  is  a 
matter  for  rejoicing.  Not  only  because  better  materials 
mean  softer  and  richer  colors,  but  because  they  very 
greatly  improve  the  texture  of  the  stage  picture.  This 
difference  in  quality  makes  a  very  marked  difference  in 
.beauty  of  effect. 

Occasionally  it  will  be  found  necessary  to  hire  cos- 
tumes, and,  more  often,  wigs.  But  all  such  things  as 
can  be  made,  with  help,  by  the  children  and  their  friends, 
will  add  just  so  much  to  their  interest  in  the  perform- 
ance, and  the  good  they  can  get  from  it. 

MAKE-UP.  For  plays  produced  under  artificial  light, 
some  "  make-up  "  must  be  used,  as  otherwise  faces  are 
often  pale  to  ghastliness.  But  for  children  it  should  be 
put  on  with  a  very  careful  and  sparing  hand,  and  except 
in  certain  character-parts,  only  a  little  dry  rouge  is  needed. 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  PRODUCTION      xix 

REHEARSING.  Children's  plays  should  not  be  over- 
rehearsed.  The  smoothness  and  finish  which  it  is  right 
to  demand  of  older  players  is  hardly  possible,  or  even 
desirable,  for  them.  The  charm  of  their  acting  lies  in  its 
sweet  simplicity  and  freshness,  a  part  of  which  is  almost 
sure  to  be  lost  in  any  attempt  at  professional  perfection. 
When  they  weary  of  rehearsals,  and  lose  their  enjoyment 
of  them,  not  only  are  the  director's  troubles  multiplied, 
but  something  vital  has  been  lost  from  the  charm  of  the 
final  performance. 

As  a  preliminary  to  rehearsals  the  children  should  be 
brought  together  and  the  cast  read  to  them,  so  that  each 
child  may  know  just  which  part  he  or  she  is  to  act,  and 
the  play  then  read  to  them  by  someone  thoroughly  in 
sympathy  both  with  its  story  and  with  the  children  them- 
selves. In  this  way  they  most  quickly  catch  the  spirit 
of  the  play,  and  are  at  once  full  of  interest  and  ready 
with  their  own  suggestions.  Then  the  parts  may  be  given 
out,  and  the  play  read  again,  each  child  reading  his  or 
her  own  part.  Mistakes  of  pronunciation  and  emphasis 
are  thus  guarded  against,  and  the  children  are  ready  to 
begin  learning  their  parts.  In  the  case  of  school  plays, 
where  the  whole  group  can  meet  daily,  more  than  one 
such  preliminary  reading  and  discussion  should  be  held. 

If  it  is  a  possible  thing,  rehearse  from  the  beginning 
on  the  stage  where  the  play  is  to  be  given,  having  scenery 
arranged  and  properties  of  some  sort  on  hand,  in  order 
that  lines  and  action  may  be  impressed  on  the  children's 
minds  together,  not  learned  as  distinct  and  separate 
things.  Put  into  practice  early  whatever  music  is  to  be 
used. 

Finally,  don't  let  the  rehearsals  at  any  time  descend  to 
the  level  of  mere  drill.  The  director  must  enjoy  them 


xx       SUGGESTIONS  FOR  PRODUCTION 

with  the  children,  establishing  a  happy  co-operation  which 
makes  the  whole  work  a  joy  from  beginning  to  end.  They 
will  share  the  spirit  of  adventure  in  the  matter  of  ob- 
taining or  contriving  the  most  difficult  things  in  the  way 
of  costumes,  scenery,  and  properties.  Their  inventive- 
ness will  be  quickened,  their  hands  will  grow  skillful,  and 
their  triumphant  enjoyment  of  success  in  these  preliminary 
labors  will  stimulate  them  to  greater  success  in  the  acting 
of  the  story.  In  this,  they  will  be  quick  to  appreciate 
hints — frequently  to  offer  them — as  to  the  best  ways  of 
expressing  the  meaning  and  spirit  of  the  play,  and  work 
with  them  becomes  an  inspiration  to  all  alike. 

With  such  whole-hearted  co-operation,  nothing  is  im- 
possible of  attainment,  and  the  pleasure  of  the  work 
more  than  repays  ungrudging  lavishment  of  time,  labor, 
patience,  and  love. 


THE    CHRIST-CANDLE 

A  CHRISTMAS  PLAY  IN  TWO  SCENES 


CHARACTERS 


,,„      r      .      ,     ..   ,    , ,    .    , 
Who  live  in  the  little  black  hut 

.     .  , 

in  the  woods. 


MOTHER  MADELON 

HANS 

GRETEL 

/ 

FRIEDEL,  whom  the  Christ-Child  sent. 

OLD  MART  A     ^ 

RICH  JOHANN  I  who  would  not  share  thelr  Christmas. 

CROSS  JACOB 

WOODCUTTER  J 

THE  STAR  CHILD,  who  brought  a  Christmas  message. 

FRITZ 

HEINRICH 

OSCAR 

KARL 

JAN 

BARBARA 

KATRINA 

THE  GOOD  ST.  NICHOLAS. 


To  whom   the   good   St.   Nicholas  always 
comes. 


HANS  AND  GRETEL 


THE  CHRIST-CANDLE 

SCENE  I 

Christmas  Eve,  in  the  forest  near  MOTHER  MADELON'S 
cottage.  The  ground  is  covered  with  snow  and  the  little 
evergreens  all  about  are  weighted  down  with  it.  Enter 
FRITZ  (L.)  with  his  brothers  and  sisters,  laden  with 
holly  boughs  and  evergreens.  The  boys  drag  a  sled  with 
a  small  evergreen  tree  on  it.  .As  they  come  they  sing 
"  Softly  the  Echoes  Come  and  Go."  '' 

FRITZ.  Stop  here  and  rest,  Heinrich.  This  is  too  big 
a  load  for  the  little  ones. 

BARBARA.  Yes,  Karl  is  all  out  of  breath,  and  little 
Jan  can  hardly  keep  up. 

HEINRICH  [dropping  the  sled  rope].  I'm  not  tired. 
I'm  going  to  run  back  to  the  holly  trees  to  get  a  few  more 
sprays.  [£#/'/.] 

OSCAR  \w ho  has  been  measuring  the  tree  with  his 
arm.]  Fritz,  do  you  think  the  good  St.  Nicholas  can 
cover  such  a  big  tree  as  this? 

KARL.  It's  pretty  big.  It's  bigger  than  me — or 
Katrina — I  guess  it's  bigger  than  Fritz  or  Barbara  or 
Heinrich. 

KATRINA.  I  think  it's  bigger  than  the  one  St.  Nicholas 
rilled  for  us  last  year. 

*  Hosanna,  p.  122.  New  Church  Board  of  Publication,  3  West 
29th  St.,  New  York. 

3 


4  THE  CHRIST-CANDLE 

JAN.  But  then,  you  see,  we  are  bigger  children  than 
we  were  last  year. 

FRITZ.  But  the  tree  is  almost  big  enough  to  hold  you 
on  the  top  branches,  kleiner  Bruder,  if  the  good  St. 
Nicholas  wanted  to  put  you  there.  See!  [He  and  BAR- 
BARA help  JAN  on  top  of  the  load.  Enter  HEINRICH 
excitedly.] 

HEINRICH.  Fritz,  Fritz!  And,  Barbara,  and  all  of 
you!  Listen  to  what  I've  seen.  I  was  running  over  to 
the  holly  trees,  you  know,  when  I  tripped  on  a  bit  of 
grape-vine,  and  rolled  over  in  the  snow.  [Brushes  snow 
from  his  clothes.]  And  when  I  sat  up  there  was  the 
queerest  little  black  cottage  right  there.  I  do  believe  it 
just  came  up  out  of  the  ground  like  a  house  in  a  fairy- 
book. 

FRITZ.  Oh  no,  it  didn't,  Heinrich,  it's  always  been 
there!  I've  seen  it  many  a  time. 

HEINRICH.  I  don't  believe  it!  Why  didn't  I  ever 
see  it  then? 

BARBARA.  Oh,  never  mind  that!  Tell  us  some  more 
about  the  house. 

HEINRICH.  I  crept  up,  and  looked  in  at  the  window, 
for,  of  course,  I  thought  there  might  be  brownies,  or 
gnomes,  or  kobolds  there,  and  I  saw 

CHILDREN  [breathlessly'}.     What?    Oh,  what? 

HEINRICH.  A  poor  woman  and  two  little  chil- 
dren  

CHILDREN    [disappointed].     O-o-h! 

FRITZ.     That  all? 

HEINRICH.  Just  wait!  They  looked  so  poor  and 
hungry — there  wasn't  a  thing  on  the  table  but  a  dry  little 
loaf  of  bread — and  only  a  few  little  sticks  on  the  fire. 

KATRINA.     Oh,  it  makes  me  so  sorry. 


THE  CHRIST-CANDLE  5 

HEINRICH  [shaking  his  head  wisely].  That's  not  the 
worst  of  it.  When  I  got  to  the  window  the  two  children 
were  standing  by  the  mother's  chair,  looking  up  in  her 
face  and  asking  her  something.  I  couldn't  hear  what 
they  said,  but  she  shook  her  head  oh,  so  sadly,  and  said: 
"  No,  my  little  ones,  the  good  St.  Nicholas  will  not  find 
his  way  to  us  this  Christmas."  That's  what  she  said! 
[Silent  consternation.] 

FRITZ.     What?    What  did  you  say,  Heinrich? 

BARBARA.     It  couldn't  be  so! 

KARL.     St.  Nicholas! 

OSCAR.     Not  find  his  way  everywhere! 

KATRINA.  Not  give  them  any  beautiful  Tannen- 
baum ! 

FRITZ.     Oh,  I  don't  believe  it!    You  didn't  hear  right! 

HEINRICH.  I  did.  And  I  do  believe  it!  You  would 
if  you  had  seen  how  sorry  they  looked. 

FRITZ.  Well,  but — well,  I  don't  see — well,  Heinrich, 
it  isn't  so  hard  to  find.  He  must  come  surely. 

HEINRICH.  No,  he  isn't  coming.  The  poor  woman 
said  so  and  she  must  know.  [Sit tin g  down  on  sled.] 

BARBARA.  Yes,  she  must  know.  Father  and  Mother 
always  see  the  good  saint  first,  you  know,  and  tell  him 
whether  we've  been  naughty  or  good.  They  always  know 
whether  he  is  coming  or  not. 

KATRINA.     But  he  always  does  come  to  us. 

OSCAR.  Brother  Fritz,  Mother  says  the  good  St. 
Nicholas  loves  to  give  presents  to  little  children. 
Wouldn't  he  be  sorry  if  there  was  a  house  anywhere  in 
the  world  that  he  didn't  know  about? 

KARL.     Brother  Fritz,  couldn't  we  show  him  the  way? 

FRITZ  [claps  him  on  the  shoulder].  Well  spoken, 
Karl,  my  man.  We'll  tell  St.  Nicholas  all  about  it  as 


6  THE  CHRIST-CANDLE 

soon  as  he  comes  to  us,  and  then  show  him  the  way  to 
Heinrich's  little  black  hut. 

BARBARA.  And  if  he  shouldn't  have  enough  to  go 
around,  he  always  brings  us  so  much  that  we  can  spare 
some  of  our  things  for  them. 

FRITZ.  Yes,  he  puts  enough  for  two  trees  on  our 
tree.  Come,  Oscar  and  Karl,  get  hold  of  the  rope! 
Barbara,  you  take  Katrina's  hand. 

BARBARA.  Trot  along  in  front,  Jan!  Come,  then, 
let's  get  home  as  fast  as  we  can. 

HEINRICH.  All  together  now!  Get  up,  horses,  pull 
the  load  home!  [Exeunt  (R.),  singing  as  before.  Enter 
FRIEDEL  (L.),  before  the  sound  of  their  voices  has  died 
away,  slowly  and  wearily.  Limps  to  side  and  peers 
through  the  trees  after  the  children,  then  to  the  back, 
then  to  the  left  again,  like  one  who  has  lost  his  way. 
Stops  in  the  center  looking  doubtfully  after  the  children 
once  more.  Enter  the  woodcutter  (L.),  axe  over  his 
shoulder,  whistling  as  he  hurries  home.  FRIEDEL  silently 
holds  out  his  cap,  but  the  man  shrugs  his  shoulders, 
shakes  his  head,  and  passes  on.  FRIEDEL  goes  slowly  to 
a  tree  and  sits  on  a  log  or  mound  beside  it.  Blows  on 
his  fingers,  tries  to  pull  his  rags  more  closely  around  him, 
and  leans  his  head  dejectedly  on  his  hands.  Lifts  his 
head  suddenly  to  watch  MARTA,  who  approaches  (L.)t 
hobbling  under  a  bunch  of  fagots.] 

MARTA.  Ach,  my  old  bones!  Ach,  this  heavy  bun- 
dle! Will  ever  old  Marta  get  home? 

[FRIEDEL  silently  holds  out  his  cap. 

MARTA.  What's  this!  What's  this!  What's  this! 
Was  ever  heard  tell  of  such  insolence  ?  As  if  Old  Marta 
wasn't  poor  enough  herself,  without  giving  to  every 
beggar  who  chooses  to  ask!  The  little  good-for-nothing 


THE  CHRIST-CANDLE  7 

sees  how  I  stagger  under  my  own  load  and  yet  asks  me 
to  help  him!     [Moves  on.~\ 

FRIEDEL  [softly],     I  would  help  you  carry  them. 

MARTA  [pausing].  Help  me!  Help  me!  and  lose 
half  the  sticks  I  have  worked  so  hard  to  gather  on  the 
way!  [Goes  on.]  Help  me,  he  says.  When  I  want 
help  I'll  not  ask  the  beggars  that  come  out  of  the  streets 
of  the  town  just  a  purpose  to  lie  in  wait  for  a  poor  old 
crone  like  me.  [Exit  (R.)  mumbling.]  That  I'll  not! 
That  I'll  not. 

FRIEDEL  [looking  after  her].  Why  does  she  think  I 
would  drop  the  sticks?  I  would  be  so  careful.  I  wonder 
why.  I  almost  think  she  was  afraid  of  me.  Of  me! 

[Enter  CROSS  JACOB  (L .). 

FRIEDEL  [timidly].  Please — please,  sir,  could  you  tell 
me  the  way  back  to  the  town?  And  oh,  couldn't  you 
let  me  come  to  your  fire  a  little  while  to  warm  myself  ? 

CROSS  JACOB.  Go  away  with  you!  It's  as  much  as 
ever  my  wife  will  do  to  let  me  warm  myself  at  my  fire. 
She's  got  nine  boys  of  her  own  to  fill  up  my  house  and 
drive  me  away.  Get  away  with  you!  [Shakes  his  fist 
threateningly.  FRIEDEL  recoils.]  Go  home  to  your  own 
fire!  [Exit  (R.).] 

FRIEDEL.     Oh,  if  I  only  had  one! 

[Enter  RICH  JOHANN  (L.).    Pauses  to  light 
his  pipe. 

FRIEDEL  [speaking  timidly  and  hurriedly].  Oh,  sir! 
Oh,  good,  kind  sir!  don't  you  want  a  little  boy  to  help 
you  in  your  house? 

JOHANN  [looks  him  over].     What's  your  name,  boy? 

FRIEDEL.     Friedel,  sir! 

JOHANN.     Friedel  what! 

FRIEDEL.     Just  Friedel,  sir! 


8  THE  CHRIST-CANDLE 

JOHANN.  Umph !  "  Just  Friedel."  And  who's  Frie- 
del,  I'd  like  to  know. 

FRIEDEL.  I  don't  think  I  just  know  myself,  sir!  But, 
oh,  sir!  [clasps  his  hands  tightly],  please  let  me  work  for 
you.  I  would  pick  up  wood  for  you,  and  build  fires, 
and  run  errands.  I  would  work  so  hard  and  be  so 
faithful! 

JOHANN  [throwing  bock  his  shoulders  and  putting  his 
hands  in  his  pockets].  And  who  do  you  think  I  am, 
boy,  that  you  presume  to  want  to  work  in  my  house? 
To  work  for  me,  Rich  Johann,  who  has  many  servants 
in  his  house,  to  carry  out  his  commands  and  do  his  work 
and  run  his  errands?  Umph!  Do  you  think  I  could 
have  one  servant  about  me  clothed  in  such  rags  as  yours? 
[FRIEDEL  hangs  his  head.]  No,  no!  my  servants  wear 
fine  clothes  and  brass  buttons  [takes  a  puff  at  his  pipe], 
yes,  indeed,  brass  buttons.  No,  no!  Rich  Johann  lives 
in  a  very  different  style — a  very  different  style,  indeed. 
[Exit  (R.),  his  nose  very  much  in  the  air.] 

FRIEDEL.  Nobody  will  take  me  in.  I  have  walked 
so  far,  so  far,  I  can't  go  back  to  the  town.  [Throws 
himself  down  on  mound  (R.  Center).]  The  snow  feels 
almost  warm,  the  wind  is  so  cold.  [Points  up.]  I  can 
see  a  star  up  there  through  the  trees.  It  twinkles  and 
twinkles  as  if  it  was  laughing.  I  do  believe  it  is!  Some- 
times I  think  the  stars  must  be  children  with  little  candles 

in  their  hands.  I  wish  I  could  see — I  wish [He 

falls  back  asleep.  Enter  the  little  STAR  CHILD  (back 
Center)  from  behind  the  fir  trees.  Sings.] 


THE  CHRIST-CANDLE 
THE  CHRIST  CHILD* 


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10 


THE  CHRIST-CANDLE 


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THE  CHRIST-CANDLE 


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o'er     thee,  Bends    the  Christ  Child    o'er     thee. 


[Exit  backwards  slowly.  FRIEDEL  suddenly 
raises  himself,  stretching  out  his  hand  after 
her. 

CURTAIN 


SCENE  II 

Christmas  Eve  in  MOTHER  MADELON'S  cottage.  Open 
fireplace  *  at  the  Right,  door  (R.)  and  window  (L.)  at 
the  back.  Snow  scene  at  back,  shows  through  window 
and  door  when  opened.  Small  table  by  the  window  with 
half  a  loaf  of  bread  and  one  or  two  cracked  plates  and 
cups.  A  stool,  a  small  chair,  and  by  the  fire  a  box. 
MOTHER  MADELON  sits  (L.)  at  a  spinning  wheel.  The 
children  stand  beside  her,  GRETEL  rubbing  her  eyes  with 
her  two  little  fists,  HANS  with  his  hands  behind  him. 

HANS  [bravely'}.  But,  Mother,  the  good  saint  never 
missed  us  before.  Are  you  sure  he  isn't  coming? 

GRETEL.     What  makes  you  so  sure,  Mother,  dear? 

MOTHER.  Yes,  my  little  ones,  I  am  afraid  it  is  true. 
[More  brightly.}  You  know,  he  has  so  very  much  to 
do.  Just  think  how  many  little  children  he  must  go  to 
see  every  year!  Someone  must  always  be  left  out.  Per- 
haps it  is  our  turn  now.  We  can  wait  until  next  year. 
Perhaps  he  will  come  then. 

HANS  [rubbing  his  eyes}.  Oh,  dear,  I  wish  to-morrow 
wouldn't  come  at  all. 

MOTHER.  Oh,  Hans,  don't  say  that.  Think  how 
happy  we  can  be.  Even  if  St.  Nicholas  doesn't  come, 
to-morrow  is  still  the  bright,  beautiful  Christmas  Day, 
when  everyone  in  the  world  is  happy,  and  we  shall  hear 
the  chimes  ringing,  and  see  people  going  about  wishing 
each  other  "  Merry  Christmas."  And  then  we  have  each 

*  See  note  on  Fireplace,  p.  313. 
12 


THE  CHRIST-CANDLE  13 

other.  I  have  my  little  big  daughter  who  helps  me  wipe 
the  dishes  and  put  the  plates  away  and  my  big  right-hand 
man  who  is  going  to  work  so  hard  for  me  pretty  soon. 

HANS.  Yes,  Mother,  but  I  can  help  you  now,  right 
away.  Let  me  do  something  for  you  right  now! 

GRETEL.     Me  too,  Mother,  me  too! 

MOTHER.  Very  well!  You  shall  hold  this  yarn  for 
me,  while  Gretel  winds  it.  [Puts  the  yarn  on  HANS' 
hands.  HANS  sits  on  box,  GRETEL  on  stool  winding. 
MOTHER  turns  spinning  wheel  and  sings  "Bending  O'er 
a  Cradle  Low"] 

BENDING  O'ER  A  CRADLE  LOW* 

(A  CHRISTMAS  SONG) 

LYDIA  AVBRY  COONLBY.  GEORGR  F.  ROOT. 

-  Not  too  slow. 


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THE  CHRIST-CANDLE 


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THE  CHRIST-CANDLE 


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*** 


-fc-^- 


2.     Echoing  down  the  ages  long 

Comes  the  herald  angel's  song, 

Still  do  shepherds  heed  the  voice, 

Wise  men  listen  and  rejoice; 

While  to  greet  the  King  of  kings 

Earth  her  noblest  offerings  brings. 

And  the  blessed  Christ  is  born 

In  each  heart  on  Christmas  morn. 

Sing,  then,  peace,  good  will  for  aye, 
Hail  the  blessed  Christmas  Day! 
Hail  the  blessed  Christmas  Day! 

HANS.  Gretel,  I  believe  St.  Nicholas  will  come  any- 
way, I  just  believe  he  will.  [GRETEL  gives  the  yarn  to 
her  mother,  HANS  remains  sitting  on  the  boxj\  When 
we  aren't  thinking  about  it  he'll  just  walk  right  in — I'll 
show  you  how.  [Jumps  up  and  runs  out  of  the  door.] 
Now,  I'm  St.  Nicholas.  [Comes  in  again,  speaking  in 


16  THE  CHRIST-CANDLE 

a  loud  and  pompous  tone.}  How  do  you  do,  little  Miss 
Gretel, — how  are  you  little — no,  big  Hans!  [Shakes 
hands  with  GRETEL  and  with  an  imaginary  HANS.] 
Well,  Mother  Madelon,  have  these  children  been  very 
good  indeed? 

MOTHER.  Yes,  good  saint,  I  couldn't  ask  for  two 
better,  dearer  children,  or  any  that  I  love  half  so  well. 

HANS  [in  his  own  voice~\.  Oh,  Mother,  do  you  truly 
think  so? 

GRETEL.  Then,  Hans,  if  we've  been  good  children, 
I  'most  know  St.  Nicholas  will  come. 

HANS  [dancing  to  look  out  of  door}.  Oh,  he  will! 
He  will!  Mother,  give  me  something  to  do  so  I  won't 
keep  thinking  about  it. 

GRETEL.     Oh,  Hans,  let's  have  a  story! 

HANS.     Oh,  yes,  Mother,  please  tell  us  a  story. 

MOTHER.  Bring  your  little  stools,  then  I  will  tell 
you  a  Christmas  story. 

GRETEL  [coaxinaly}.  Mother,  don't  you  think  it  is 
too  dark  to  spin  ?  Let  me  sit  in  your  lap. 

MOTHER.  You  funny  little  fairy!  [Takes  her  on 
her  lap.  HANS  brings  a  stool  and  sits  at  his  MOTHER'S 
feet  nursing  his  knee.} 

MOTHER.  Once  upon  a  time,  many,  many  years  ago, 
it  happened  that  a  little  child  was  wandering  all  alone 
through  the  streets  of  a  great  busy  town.  It  was  Christ- 
mas Eve,  and  wherever  the  child  looked  he  saw  shining 
lights  and  hurrying  happy  people.  His  coat  was  all  too 
thin,  and  his  little  feet  and  hands  were  bare  and  frost- 
bitten. The  sharp  ice  on  the  ground  cut  his  feet  as  he 
walked,  and  the  cold  wind  tossed  his  soft  hair  back  from 
his  forehead.  But  he  hardly  seemed  to  feel  the  cold,  for 
everywhere  he  was  watching  the  eager,  happy  faces  that 


THE  CHRIST-CANDLE  17 

hastened  by.  He  looked  up  into  a  window  and  saw  a 
beautiful,  wonderful  tree,  covered  with  little  candles  and 
glittering  balls,  and  all  about  the  tree  were  gathered 
merry,  laughing  children.  It  seemed  as  if  those  happy 
little  ones  would  be  glad  to  have  another  little  boy 
amongst  them,  and  the  child  went  quietly  up  the  steps 
and  tapped  at  the  door.  But  the  tall  man  who  opened 
it  said  crossly,  "  Go  away.  I  can't  let  you  in  here."  So 
the  child  went  sorrowfully  down  the  steps  and  wandered 
on  again.  As  he  went  along  the  street  many  more  houses 
were  full  of  light  and  happiness,  and  wherever  he  saw 
the  candle-covered  Christmas  trees  with  their  cluster  of 
gay  child-faces,  he  tapped  softly  at  the  door,  or  looked 
wistfully  in  at  the  window.  But  everywhere  the  same 
answer  was  given  him.  "  You  must  go  on.  We  can't 
take  you  in."  Some  people  looked  sorry  when  they  said 
this,  but  most  of  them  hardly  glanced  at  him  at  all  before 
they  shut  the  great  doors  to  keep  out  the  cold  wind.  At 
last  he  came  to  the  very  last  house — a  poor  little  cottage 
with  just  one  window.  But  he  could  see  the  light  stream- 
ing out  of  it,  and  wearily  made  his  way  to  the  door.  In 
this  little  house  was  a  Mother  and  two  little  children 

HANS.     Just  like  us! 

MOTHER.  And  at  one  side  of  the  room  was  a  cra- 
dle  

GRETEL.     But  we  haven't  got  any  baby! 

MOTHER.  When  the  little  girl  heard  the  soft  tapping 
at  the  door  she  said:  "  Shall  I  open  it,  Mother?"  And 
the  mother  said,  "  Yes,  indeed,  we  musn't  let  anyone 
stay  out  in  the  cold  on  the  beautiful  Christmas  Eve." 
So  the  child  opened  the  door  and  led  in  the  little,  shiver- 
ing stranger.  The  mother  took  him  on  her  lap  and 
rubbed  his  frozen  hands,  and  folded  her  warm  arms  about 


i8  THE  CHRIST-CANDLE 

him.  And  the  children  begged  him  to  stay  with  them 
always.  Then  the  Mother  told  them  the  wonderful 
beautiful  story  of  the  first  Christmas,  and  how  the  shining 
angels  came  to  the  poor  shepherds  in  the  field  and  sang 
"  Glory  to  God  in  the  Highest,  and  on  earth  peace,  good 
will  towards  men."  And  how  the  shepherds  went  to  find 
the  dear  baby  in  the  manger,  and  the  wise  men  were  led 
by  a  glorious  star  to  find  Him,  too.  And  while  she  was 
talking  to  them  the  room  seemed  filled  with  a  strange, 
soft  light  that  grew  lovelier  and  brighter  every  moment, 
until  the  children,  wondering,  turned  to  their  mother  to 
ask  what  it  meant.  And  then  they  saw  that  the  Child 
was  gone.  But  the  mother  said:  "  Children,  I  think  we 
have  had  the  real  little  Christ-Child  with  us  to-night." 
And  after  that  men  used  to  say  that  the  Christ-Child 
sometimes  came  again  on  Christmas  Eve  to  wander  from 
door  to  door  asking  for  shelter  and  love.  And  sometimes 
men  drive  Him  away,  and  He  can  find  no  place  to  rest. 
But  in  some  homes  He  is  given  a  glad  and  loving  wel- 
come. 

GRETEL.     Oh,  Mother,  I  wish,  I  wish  He  would  come 
here,  to  us! 

HANS  [looking  to  the  window}.     But,  Mother,  it  is 
all   dark — there  is   no   light   in   the  window  for  Him! 
Mother,  we've  got  a  little  piece  of  a  candle.     Mayn't  I 
put  it  in  the  cup  that's  broken  and  light  it? 
MOTHER.    Yes,  my  little  son. 

[HANS  jumps  on  the  box  and  reaches  a  bit  of 
candle  from  the  mantel.  Fastens  it  in  the 
cup  and  lights  it.  GRETEL  watching  anx- 
iously. Then  together  they  put  it  in  the 
window  and  sing  "  The  Christ-Candle!' 


THE  CHRIST-CANDLE 


THE  CHRIST -CANDLE* 


KATB  L.  BROWN. 


ELIZABETH  U.  EMERSON. 


SOLO.  Allegro  moderate. 


1.  Lit -tie    ta  -  per    set    to-night,  Throw  a-  far  thy 


By  permission  of  the  Universalist  Publishing  House. 


20 


THE  CHRIST-CANDLE 


IN 


JV- 


ti  -  ny  light,  Up  and  down  the  darksome  street,  Guide  the  tender 


wand'ring  feet      Of   the  dar  -  ling  Christ  Child  sweet. 


r    r 


2.  He  is  coming  through  the  snow 
As  He  came  so  long  ago, 
When  the  stars  set  o'er  the  hill, 
When  the  town  is  dark  and  still, 
Comes  to  do  the  Father's  will. 

3.  Little  taper,  spread  thy  ray 
Make  His  pathway  light  as  day, 
Let  some  door  be  open  wide 
For  this  guest  of  Christmas-tide, 
Dearer  than  all  else  beside. 

4.  Little  Christ  Child  come  to  me, 
Let  my  heart  Thy  shelter  be. 


THE  CHRIST-CANDLE  21 

Such  a  home  Thou  wilt  not  scorn, 
So  the  bells  of  Christmas  morn 
Glad  shall  ring,  "A  Christ  is  born." 

NOTE:  The  air  "Hearts  and  Flowers"  can  also  be  used  for 
this  song. 

GRETEL.  Oh,  do  you  think  the  little  Christ-Child 
can  see  it  now,  Mother? 

MOTHER.  Yes,  my  darling.  He  can.  And  whether 
He  comes  wandering  through  the  snowy  forests  or  not, 
He  loves  to  know  that  little  children  think  of  Him  and 
try  to  please  Him. 

HANS.  Gretel,  I'm  going  out  to  see  if  the  light  shows 
outside.  [Goes  out  of  the  door  and  peers  in  at  the  win- 
dow. GRETEL  keeps  the  door  open  a  crack  to  watch 
him.] 

HANS  [comes  in  and  bends  over  the  fire  to  warm  his 
hands].  It  sparkles  on  the  snow  just  the  way  the  moon- 
light does,  and  it's  ever  so  much  brighter  than  the  stars. 
Do  you  believe  it  is  as  bright  as  the  star  of  Bethlehem? 

GRETEL.  Oh  no!  It  couldn't  be  like  that!  There 
was  never  another  star  that  shone  like  that. 

HANS.  Let  me  put  another  stick  on  the  fire,  Mother. 
If  the  little  Christ-Child  comes  He  will  be  so  cold.  [Puts 
on  one  or  two  sticks.] 

GRETEL.  Oh,  Hans,  I'm  afraid  He  will  be  hungry, 
too.  Let's  toast  a  piece  of  our  loaf  for  Him. 

HANS.     Yes,  let  me  toast  it. 

GRETEL.  And  I'll  cut  it.  [Both  clatter  to  the  table, 
where  GRETEL  cuts  a  piece  of  bread,  and  fastening  it 
on  a  stick  gives  it  to  HANS,  who  seats  himself  on  a  stool 
before  the  fire.  GRETEL  stands  beside  him.  FRIEDEL 
appears  at  the  window  and  leans  his  face  against  it, 
watching.] 


22  THE  CHRIST-CANDLE 

GRETEL.  Oh,  Hans,  be  careful,  be  careful,  you're 
burning  it! 

HANS.     No,  I'm  not,  but  I'm  toasting  my  face. 

GRETEL.  Let  me  hold  it  awhile.  [  They  change  places. 
HANS  stands  with  hands  on  hips  and  feet  apart  tvatching 
her.  The  MOTHER  sees  FRIEDEL  and  rises,  beckoning 
to  him.  FRIEDEL  leaves  the  window,  and  goes  to  the 
door,  where  he  taps  softly.] 

GRETEL.  Oh,  Hans!  He's  come!  He's  come! 
[GRETEL  drops  fork  and  both  fly  to  the  door,  throwing  it 
wide  open,  and  standing  back.  An  instant's  pause,  then 
FRIEDEL  looks  from  one  to  the  other  and  stretches  out  his 
hands.] 

GRETEL  [shyly  taking  his  hand].  We — we — we  were 
waiting  for  you.  Come  in. 

HANS.     We're  glad  you've  come. 

GRETEL.  Mother.  Mother,  his  hands  are  like  ice. 
[Leads  him  to  the  fire.  HANS  shuts  the  door  and  comes 
to  watch.  The  MOTHER  comes  forward.] 

MOTHER.  Sit  here,  little  one,  and  let  me  warm  the 
poor  cold  hands.  [Seats  FRIEDEL  on  a  stool  close  to  the 
fire,  and  bending  over  him  chafes  his  hands.  HANS  and 
GRETEL  draw  away,  casting  furtive  glances  at  him.] 

HANS.     Do  you  believe  it  is  the  Christ-Child,  Gretel? 

GRETEL  [slowly].     I — I  don't  know. 

HANS  [decidedly].  I  do.  It  must  be.  We  put  the 
candle  there  for  Him — and  then  He  came.  And  you 
made  toast  for  Him — where  is  His  toast,  Gretel? 

GRETEL.  Oh,  Hans!  I  dropped  it  when  I  went  to  the 
door! 

HANS  [hurries  to  pick  it  up].  Never  mind.  It  didn't 
hurt  it  a  bit. 

GRETEL   [takes  it  and  brushes  it].     He  won't  care. 


THE  CHRIST-CANDLE  23 

Mother's  hearth  isn't  a  bit  dusty.    [Both  go  to  FRIEDEL.] 

GRETEL  [timidly  offering  him  the  toast}.  Hans  and 
I  thought  you  would  be  hungry,  and  so  we  made  you 
some  toast. 

FRIEDEL.  Oh,  I  am,  I  am.  [Takes  a  bite  and  turns 
to  them.]  I  haven't  had  anything  to  eat  since — since — 
Oh,  I  can't  remember!  When  was  it?  [Puts  his  hand 
to  his  head.] 

MOTHER  [drawing  him  gently  to  lean  against  her], 
There,  never  mind.  Eat  now. 

[GRETEL  and  HANS  draw  away  again. 

HANS.     Are  you  sure  it  is  the  Christ-Child,  Gretel? 

GRETEL.  I  don't  know.  But  I  think — I  think  if  it 
was,  His  face  would  be  all  shining. 

MOTHER.  Where  is  your  home,  my  son?  And  what 
is  your  name?  Why  were  you  wandering  all  alone  this 
bitter  night? 

FRIEDEL.  I  am  Friedel.  Just  Friedel.  Not  anything 
else.  And  I  haven't  any  home.  I  wish  I  had.  A  home 
is  what  I  was  looking  for.  I  thought  perhaps  someone 
would  take  me  in,  and  let  me  work  to  pay  for  keeping 
me.  But  nobody  wants  a  boy,  somehow,  nobody.  [Drops 
his  head  in  his  hands.] 

MOTHER  [stroking  his  head].  You  shall  never  say 
that  again,  my  son.  While  we  have  still  our  little  hut, 
you  shall  live  with  us,  and  be  an  elder  brother  to  my 
little  ones. 

HANS.  You  hear  that,  Gretel?  It  isn't  the  Christ- 
Child,  after  all.  [Rubs  his  fists  in  his  eyes.] 

GRETEL.  Oh,  but  Hans,  I  believe  the  Christ-Child 
would  like  this  almost  as  much.  I  mean  He  would  like 
our  putting  the  candle  in  the  window,  and  making  the 
toast  and  everything  for  this  poor  little  boy,  almost  as 


THE  CHRIST-CANDLE 


much  as  if  it  was  really  for  Him.  Because  it's  His  little 
boy,  you  know.  [The  chimes  begin. 

HANS.     Really  and  truly? 

GRETEL.  Yes,  I'm  sure!  Perhaps  the  Christ-Child 
sent  him  to  us.  Oh,  Hans,  listen!  The  chimes  are  be- 
ginning to  ring.  [Both  run  to  the  window  to  listen. 
After  a  moment  voices  in  the  distance  begin  singing  "  Oh, 
Happy  Night."] 

OH,  HAPPY  NIGHT* 


Words  by  M.  E.  B. 


Music  written  for  "  Wide  Awake  " 
By  Louis  C.  ELSON. 


1.  Oh,  happy  night!  that  brings  the  morn  To  dawn  a-bove  the 

2.  Oh,  happy  star  I  whose  radiance  sweet  Did  guide  the  wise  men's 


gam 


Lord  new-born,  And  bids    the    an  -  gels  sing     a  -  gain  Their 
eag  -  er  feet,  To  seek    the  way  un-known,  un-tried,  That 


-J^^i 


? 


-+          -+          -*-          -+    -r    zj: 

*  Courtesy  of  Lothrop,  Lee  &  Shepard  Company. 


THE  CHRIST-CANDLE 


•s          PP  «7.:»* 


message  to  the  sons  of  men,  We  hail  thee!  We  hail  thee! 
led  them  to  the  manger '3  side,  We  hail  thee!  We  hail  theel 

UJ    i 


3.  Oh,  happy  manger!  that  hath  known 
This  precious  burden  as  thine  own, 
Beyond  all  gifts  the  world  doth  hold 

Of  pomp  and  pow'r  and  gems  and  gold, 
We  hail  thee!     We  hail  thee! 

4.  Oh,  happy  day!  that  gave  to  men 
The  Babe  Divine  of  Bethlehem, 
The  King  of  Kings  the  undefiled 
In  semblance  of  a  little  child, 

We  hail  thee!     We  hail  thee! 

5.     Oh,  happy  Babe!  whose  wondrous  eyes 
Still  hold  the  light  of  Paradise, 
Look  down  in  blessing  from  above 
While,  Prince  of  Peace  and  Lord  of  Love, 
We  hail  thee!     We  hail  thee! 

(Sung  by   a  single  voice,   several  joining  in   at  "We   hail 
thee!") 

GRETEL  [at  the  end  of  the  first  verse].     Oh,  Mother 
dear,  do  you  hear  the  singing? 

[Another  verse  is  sung. 


26  THE  CHRIST-CANDLE 

FRIEDEL  [wonderingly~\.     What  is  it?    Angels? 

[At  the  end  of  the  song  FRITZ  and  others  are 
seen    passing    the    window.     HANS    and 
GRETEL  rush  to  their  MOTHER. 
GRETEL.     Oh,  Mother!  He's  coming!     He's  coming! 
HANS.     Yes,  he  is!    I  saw  him! 
MOTHER  [startled].     Who  is  coming,  my  children? 

[The  door  is  flung  open  and  the  children  rush 

in,  ST.  NICHOLAS  standing  at  the  door. 
HANS  and  GRETEL.     St.  Nicholas!     St.  Nicholas! 
ST.  NICHOLAS.     Yes,  old  St.  Nicholas  again.    Mother 
Madelon,  may  I  come  in? 

MOTHER.     May  you  come  in?     Ask  the  little  ones 

here!  [HANS  and  GRETEL  run  to  draw  him  in. 

FRITZ.     You    see,    Mother    Madelon,    our    Heinrich 

heard   you   say   the   good   saint   couldn't   find  you   this 

year 


BARBARA.     So  we  hurried  right  home- 


HEINRICH.  And  as  soon  as  he  came  we  told  him 
about  you 

FRITZ.     And  begged  him  to  let  us  show  him  the  way! 

JAN.     And  of  course,  he  came! 

KARL  and  OSCAR.     Yes,  of  course ! 

MOTHER.  It  was  very  thoughtful  of  you,  little 
friends. 

HANS  and  GRETEL.  Thank  you,  thank  you  all  so 
much ! 

GRETEL.  Oh,  good  saint,  we  were  so  afraid  you 
wouldn't  come. 

HANS.     Mother  said  you  couldn't  find  us. 

ST.  NICHOLAS.  And  I  doubt  if  I  could  have  found 
you,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that  little  gleaming  candle  that 
you  put  in  the  window  to  light  my  way. 


THE  CHRIST-CANDLE  27 

GRETEL  [holding  his  hand].  Oh,  but,  St.  Nicholas, 
we  ought  to  tell  you  that  we  didn't  put  the  candle  there 
for  you. 

KATRINA.    Why,  who  was  it  for? 

GRETEL  [softly].  It  was  for  the  Christ-Child.  We 
thought  perhaps  He  would  be  out  in  the  snow  and  cold 
— and  we  were  so  warm  and  happy! 

ST.  NICHOLAS.  Let  me  tell  you,  little  Gretel,  though 
the  Christ-Child  did  not  come,  it  is  just  as  true  that  He 
sent  me  to  you  as  it  is  that  I  was  led  here  by  the  clear 
shining  of  the  Christ-Candle. 

CURTAIN 


NOTES  ON  COSTUME  AND  SETTING 

The  parts  of  the  Mother  and  St.  Nicholas  should  be 
played  by  adults :  other  adult  parts  taken  by  young  people 
sixteen  to  eighteen. 

MOTHER  MADELON.  Plain  dark  dress,  white  ker- 
chief, white  peasant's  cap. 

HANS.  (Eight  years  old.)  White  shirt,  bright-col- 
ored vest,  full  blue  trousers,  red  stockings.  Toboggan 
cap. 

GRETEL.  ( Six  years. )  Full  white  waist,  black  bodice, 
red  skirt,  or  dark  skirt  and  red  stockings.  White  peas- 
ant's cap.  Both  children  may  wear  wooden  shoes. 

FRIEDEL.  (Boy  of  nine.)  Very  ragged  coat  and 
trousers.  Bare  feet.  No  hat.  (Should  be  a  thin  little 
fellow  whose  appearance  may  give  the  touch  of  pathos.) 

OLD  MARTA.  (May  be  taken  by  a  boy,  if  preferred.) 
Poorly  dressed,  in  old  shawl  and  hood,  carrying  a  bundle 
of  fagots.  Face  deeply  wrinkled  and  lined,  with  an 
ill-tempered  expression. 

RICH  JOHANN.  Velvet  coat,  flowered  vest,  full  knee- 
breeches,  shoes  with  silver  buckles.  Broad-brimmed  felt 
hat.  Silver-headed  cane.  Is  very  pompous. 

CROSS  JACOB.     Rough  farm  clothes,  heavy  boots. 

WOODCUTTER.  Fur  cap,  warm  gloves,  high  boots. 
Carries  an  ax.  Is  young,  wholesome,  rosy  with  work, 
and  happy. 

STAR  CHILD.  (Child  of  seven  or  eight,  who  can 
sing.)  White  gown,  hanging  straight  from  neck  to 

28 


THE  CHRIST-CANDLE  29 

ground,  with  flowing  sleeves.  Carries  a  gold  wand  with 
a  star  on  the  end,  and  wears  a  star  on  the  forehead.  If 
taken  by  a  boy,  he  should  wear  a  short  white  sleeveless 
tunic,  white  stockings,  and  sandals. 

FRITZ  and  his  sisters  and  brothers,  children  from 
twelve  years  down  to  six,  are  dressed  in  ordinary  out- 
door winter  costumes,  with  as  much  as  possible  of  bright 
color  about  them. 

ST.  NICHOLAS  differs  somewhat  from  the  accepted  idea 
of  Santa  Claus,  being  dignified,  benign,  and  kindly,  rather 
than  lively  and  jolly.  Costume  about  the  same, — long 
coat,  high  boots,  fur  cap,  flowing  white  beard. 

NOTE  FOR  SNOW  SCENE.  If  not  feasible  to  have  a 
winter  scene  for  the  back  drop,  cover  the  back  wall  with 
white,  and  fasten  drooping  branches  of  evergreen  at  sides, 
to  suggest  the  limbs  of  trees  just  out  of  sight.  The 
wings  may  be  treated  in  the  same  way, — or  screens,  if 
given  in  home  or  schoolroom.  Cover  the  floor  with 
white,  piling  with  cushions  beneath  in  some  places  to 
give  an  irregular  surface,  and  to  make  the  bank  (R. 
Center),  where  Friedel  lies  down.  Four  or  five  ever- 
green trees  will  make  an  effective  forest,  and  if  quite 
small,  they  should  be  raised  to  different  heights,  and 
banked  about  with  white.  Leave  opening  between  them 
(Back  Center),  in  which  the  Star  Child  should  appear, 
coming  and  going  very  silently  and  slowly.  Cotton  snow 
upon  the  little  trees  and  "  diamond-dust "  over  all,  help 
to  make  this  a  very  pretty  scene. 

For  chimes,  play  the  music  of  the  carol  "  Oh,  Happy 
Night "  on  a  xylophone,  behind  the  scenes. 


TOINETTE    AND    THE    ELVES 

IN  TWO  ACTS 


CHARACTERS 

MOTHER. 

TOINETTE,  girl  of  twelve  or  fourteen. 

MARIE,  girl  of  eleven. 

JEANNETTE,  little  girl  of  five  or  six. 

PIERRE  )  _          , 

,,,          V  Boys  of  ten  or  eleven. 

MARC    j 

The  Elves: 

HOLLYBERRY  "> 

MISTLETOE         T  .   ,    ,          ,  - 

_,  V  Little  boys  of  five  or  six. 

EVERGEEN 

ICICLE 


TOINETTE   AND   THE   ELVES 

From  .the  story  by  Susan  Coolidge,  St.  Nicholas  for  January, 
1876. 

ACT  I 

TIME:  Christmas  Eve. 

SCENE:  The  kitchen  of  a  peasant  cottage.  Open  fire- 
place *  [R.]  with  large  pot,  hung  from  a  crane,  or  stand- 
ing directly  upon  the  logs.  On  the  shelf  above,  small 
bowls  and  spoons.  Beside  fireplace,  a  narrow  exit  leading 
to  TOINETTE'S  room:  opposite,  door  to  other  rooms.  Out- 
side door,  R.  Back.  L.  window.  Down  stage  L.  a  low 
table  with  small  chairs,  where  the  children  sit  for  their 
supper,  used  later  by  the  Elves.  Before  the  fire,  a  large 
old-fashioned  wooden  rocker. 

MOTHER  bends  over  sewing,  near  window,  from  time 
to  time  glancing  at  TOINETTE,  who  sits  dreamily  gazing 
into  the  fire. 

MOTHER.  Toinette!  [TOINETTE,  absorbed  in 
thought,  apparently  hears  nothing.]  Toinette!  Bless  the 
child,  is  she  asleep?  Toinette! 

TOINETTE    [absently].     Yes,   Mother. 

MOTHER.  Come,  Toinette,  it  is  time  to  brush  the 
hearth  and  set  the  kettle  on  to  boil. 

TOINETTE  [without  moving].     Yes'm,  in  a  minute. 

MOTHER    [sharply].     Toinette,   the  dusk   is   coming. 

*  See  note  on  Fireplace,  p.  313. 
33 


34  TOINETTE  AND  THE  ELVES 

It   is  nearly   supper-time,   and   the   candle   must  be   lit. 
Come,  brush  the  floor  quickly,  child. 

TOINETTE  [flinging  impatiently  out  of  her  chair}.  I 
hate  to  work!  [Sweeps  slowly  and  absently,  stopping  to 
lean  on  her  broom.  Enter  MARIE  and  JEANNETTE,  with 
sewing  and  book,  and  sit  down  on  low  chairs.} 

MARIE.  Toinette,  will  you  show  me  how  to  fasten 
this  off? 

TOINETTE  [who  has  been  leaning  on  her  broom,  be- 
gins suddenly  to  sweep}.  No,  I  won't.  I'm  busy 
sweeping. 

MARIE.     Oh,  I  didn't  know  you  were  busy. 

TOINETTE.  What  are  your  eyes  for?  Don't  you  see 
me  sweeping? 

MARIE.  Well,  you  were  standing  still,  and  I  just 
thought 

TOINETTE  [sweeping  furiously}.  You're  always  "just 
thinking  "  things. 

JEANNETTE.     I'm  hungry,  Mother. 

MOTHER.     Are  you,  dear? 

TOINETTE  [crossly,  leaning  on  her  broom}.  She's  al- 
ways hungry.  I  never  saw  such  a  little  pig. 

MARIE  [putting  her  arms  indignantly  around  JEAN- 
NETTE]. No,  she  isn't  at  all.  You're  very  unkind, 
Toinette. 

MOTHER.  Hush,  children.  Don't  quarrel.  [Shakes 
her  head  sadly  and  looks  perplexed.} 

[Enter  PIERRE  and  MARC,  the  latter  with 
knife  and  bits  of  wood.  MARC  sits  down 
against  the  fireplace,  whittling.  PIERRE 
lies  at  full  length  before  the  fire. 

JEANNETTE.    Will  you  tell  us  a  story,  Toinette? 

MARIE    [gently}.     Sh,   dear,   Toinette's  busy,   but   I 


TOINETTE  AND  THE  ELVES  35 

wish  she  would.  She  can  tell  such  lovely  fairy  stories 
when  she  likes  to.  And  this  is  Christmas  Eve,  Jeannette. 
Perhaps  the  fairies  are  out,  looking  for  good  children. 
Fairies  are  always  helping  St.  Nicholas;  Toinette  says 
so.  I  wish  she  would  get  done  sweeping. 

JEANNETTE.  When  you  get  done,  can't  you  tell  just 
one  story,  Toinette? 

TOINETTE.  Oh,  it's  so  hard  to  keep  thinking  up 
stories  all  the  time.  There  now,  Marc,  you  horrid  boy, 
just  see  how  you've  scattered  chips  all  over  my  clean 
floor.  And,  Pierre,  your  old  shoes  are  just  as  dirty  as 
they  can  be.  What's  the  use  of  my  sweeping,  Mother, 
when  the  boys  are  so  careless? 

MOTHER.  Try  to  remember  to  brush  your  shoes  next 
time,  Pierre.  And,  Marc,  it's  better  not  to  bring  the 
whittling  into  the  house. 

TOINETTE.     I  should  think  as  much. 

PIERRE  [getting  up].  I'm  sorry  I  forgot,  Mother. 
Come  along,  Marc,  we'll  go  out  in  the  woodshed. 

MARC  [giving  the  chips  a  brush  towards  the  fireplace 
with  his  cap  and  then  following  PIERRE].  It's  pretty  cold 
in  the  woodshed.  [Looking  resentfully  at  TOINETTE.] 
I'd  rather  be  cold  than  get  scolded  all  the  time.  [Exeunt 
boys.] 

MOTHER  [rises,  lights  candle,  puts  saucepan  over  the 
fire].  Now,  Toinette,  I  have  other  work  to  do.  Finish 
brushing  up  [TOINETTE  puts  down  broom],  and  set  the 
table.  The  porridge  is  over  the  fire  and  will  be  done 
soon.  If  you  would  put  your  mind  on  it,  daughter,  and 
work  quickly,  you  would  get  done  quickly,  and  the  work 
would  not  seem  so  hard.  [Exit.] 

TOINETTE  [seizes  a  tablecloth  and  approaches  the 
table].  Work  quickly!  Marie,  how  ever  can  I  set 


36  TOINETTE  AND  THE  ELVES 

the  table  with  you  and  Jeannette  in  the  way,  I'd  like  to 
know? 

MARIE.  We'll  go  in  Mother's  room,  Toinette. 
[Takes  JEANNETTE  by  the  hand.  Exeunt.] 

TOINETTE  [covering  table  and  slapping  bowls  and 
spoons  pettishly  down  upon  it].  Work  quickly!  Don't 
I  work  and  work  all  the  time?  And  I'm  never  done. 
The  work  seems  hard  because  it  is  hard,  that's  why.  Oh, 
if  we  weren't  so  poor,  and  didn't  have  to  work  so  hard ! 
[Relaxes  her  efforts  and  stands  before  the  fire,  dish  in 
hand.]  And  if  we  could  have  beautiful  Christmas  pres- 
ents to-morrow,  instead  of  just — anything.  [A  very 
gentle  knock  at  the  door.]  Oh,  what  was  that? 
[Opens.]  The  boys  must  be  playing  tricks  on  me. 
[Knocks  again.]  Surely,  there  is  someone  there.  [Opens 
door  and  steps  outside.  HOLLYBERRY  slips  in  behind  her 
and  hides  behind  the  door.  Re-enter  TOINETTE.]  It 
must  be  the  fairies,  I  think.  [Stands  looking  out.]  This 
is  Christmas  Eve  and  of  course  it's  the  right  time  for 
good  fairies  to  be  about.  How  I  wish  I  could  see 
one! 

HOLLYBERRY.  Do  you,  Toinette?  Just  open  your 
eyes  and  you  will,  then. 

TOINETTE  [jumping,  rubs  her  eyes  and  looks  about], 
Where?  Oh,  where? 

[HOLLYBERRY   comes  from   behind   the   door 
and  makes  a  low  bow. 

TOINETTE  [clasping  her  hands  with  delight].  Oh, 
are  you  really  a  fairy? 

HOLLYBERRY  [hands  on  hips].  Yes,  I  think  I'm  a 
pretty  real  sort  of  a  fairy.  We  elves  have  heard  you  talk- 
ing about  us  and  you  always  tell  what's  true,  so  we  like 
you, 


37 

TOINETTE.  Oh,  I'm  so  glad,  because  I  love  fairies. 
The  children  do  too,  and  they  are  always  teasing  me  to 
tell  them  fairy  tales. 

HOLLYBERRY.  I  am  the  leader  of  the  band  of  elves. 
My  name  is  Hollyberry,  and  I've  come  with  a  message 
to  you.  I  told  you  the  elves  and  fairies  all  like  you.  So 
we  are  going  to  give  you  a  Christmas  present. 

TOINETTE.     Oh,  oh!  how  kind  you  are. 

HOLLYBERRY  [arms  folded,  nodding  his  head].  Yes, 
we  are.  Very  kind.  But  people  don't  always  think  so. 
Toinette,  how  would  you  like  to  be  invisible? 

TOINETTE.  Invisible?  Oh,  do  you  mean  to  go  around 
wherever  I  like  without  being  seen?  Oh,  what  fun! 

HOLLYBERRY.  That's  exactly  what  I  mean.  We  can 
do  it,  at  any  time,  because  we  know  how.  But  mortals 
like  you  can  only  do  it  on  Christmas  Eve,  and  then  only 
when  we  'help  them. 

TOINETTE.  Do  you  mean  you  are  going  to  show  me 
how? 

HOLLYBERRY.  That's  it.  There  are  two  things  you 
must  do.  First  you  must  put  fern  seed  in  your  shoes. 

TOINETTE.  Fern  seed?  Why,  I  didn't  even  know 
ferns  had  seeds.  I  never  saw  any. 

HOLLYBERRY.  Of  course  not.  The  elves  take  very 
good  care  of  that. 

TOINETTE.     Where  shall  I  get  any? 

HOLLYBERRY.  I'll  attend  to  that.  The  second  thing 
is  to  put  on  the  Cloak  of  Darkness. 

TOINETTE.     The  Cloak  of  Darkness!    What  is  that? 

HOLLYBERRY.  Don't  be  impatient,  Toinette.  \Waves 
his  holly  wand  and  snaps  his  fingers  above  his  head.  The 
door  opens  and  the  other  elves  enter,  carrying  between 
them  the  gray  cloak  and  a  tiny  bag.] 


33  TOINETTE  AND  THE  ELVES 

ELVES  [kneeling  before  TOINETTE  and  presenting  bag 
and  cloak}.  Hail,  Toinette! 

HOLLYBERRY  [touching  the  kneeling  elves  as  he  names 
them].  Evergreen  and  Mistletoe,  present  the  magic 
Cloak  of  Darkness.  Icicle,  yield  the  fairy  fern  seed. 
Now,  Toinette,  put  a  pinch  of  fern  seed  in  each  shoe, 
wrap  the  cloak  around  you,  and  then, — well,  nobody  but 
an  elf  can  find  you. 

MISTLETOE.     The  charm  is  only  for  to-night. 

HOLLYBERRY.  And  if  you  get  tired  of  it  before  bed- 
time  

EVERGREEN.     Take  off  the  cloak 

ICICLE.     And  empty  your  shoes 

HOLLYBERRY.  And,  presto !  Toinette  is  herself  again. 
Now,  farewell.  [All  bow  low  and  go  to  door.] 

ICICLE.     Good-by. 

MISTLETOE.  We'll  take  care  of  the  cloak  when  you're 
done  with  it. 

EVERGREEN.  We  hope  you'll  like  our  Christmas 
present.  [Exeunt  elves,  laughing  mischievously. 

TOINETTE  [looking  after  them].  What  cunning  little 
fellows!  Oh,  what  fun.  [Examines  cloak.]  I'll  put  it 
on  right  away.  [Exit  (RJ-] 

[Enter  MOTHER  (L .),  going  at  once  to  the  fire. 

MOTHER.  Why,  where  is  Toinette?  The  porridge 
is  almost  boiling  over.  Come,  children, — Marie,  Jean- 
nette,  boys.  Supper  is  ready. 

[Enter  children  and  take  their  places  at  table. 
MOTHER  fills  bowls  from  saucepan  while 
they  talk. 

MOTHER  [calls].     Toinette,  come  to  supper,  daughter. 
[Enter  TOINETTE  in  cloak.     All  are  uncon- 
scious of  her  presence. 


TOINETTE  AND  THE  ELVES  39 

MOTHER  [giving  bread  to  children,  who  eat  hungrily], 
Where  can  Toinette  be?  Boys,  have  you  seen  her? 

MARC.  No,  Mother,  she  lets  us  alone  when  we  keep 
out  of  her  way. 

MOTHER.  For  shame,  Marc.  Pierre,  go  call  her, — 
she  may  be  in  her  room.  [ PIERRE  crosses  the  room,  al- 
most bumping  into  TOINETTE,  ivho  stands  in  the  way.] 

PIERRE  [at  door].  Toinette!  Toinette!  We're  at 
supper.  [A  moment's  silence.  TOINETTE  giggles.]  She 
isn't  here,  Mother. 

MARIE.     I'm  sure  I  heard  her  laughing. 

MOTHER.  Listen.  [TOINETTE  covers  her  mouth  to 
stifle  a  laugh.  PIERRE  sits  down  again  and  eats.] 

TOINETTE  [aside].  This  is  such  fun.  But  I'm  hun- 
gry,— how  am  I  going  to  get  anything  to  eat?  [Goes 
close  to  the  table  and,  watching  her  chance,  slips  MARC'S 
bread  off  the  table  and  eats.] 

MARC.     Where's  my  bread?    You  took  it,  Pierre. 

PIERRE.     I  did  not.     Here's  my  own. 

MARIE.     You  must  have  dropped  it  on  the  floor. 

MARC  [looking  under  chair].     No,  I  didn't. 

MARIE.     Well,  you  ate  it,  then. 

MARC.     I  never.     [TOINETTE  laughs  silently.] 

MOTHER.  Here's  another  piece.  Never  mind  where 
that  is  gone.  I  only  wish  Toinette  had  it.  [TOINETTE 
nearly  chokes.]  The  child  must  have  gone  out.  I  will 
go  to  the  gate  and  look  down  the  road.  [Exit.] 

JEANNETTE.     Poor  Toinette's  all  gone. 

MARC.     Perhaps  a  bear  has  eaten  her  up. 

PIERRE.  If  he  has,  I  mean  to  ask  Mother  if  I  can't 
have  her  room. 

MARIE.     Marc,  don't  talk  so,  you'll  frighten  Jeannette. 

MARC.     Well,  perhaps  it's  true. 


40  TOINETTE  AND  THE  ELVES 

MARIE.     Well,  you  know  you'd  be  sorry  if  it  was. 
PIERRE.     I  wouldn't  be  very  sorry. 
MARIE  [horrified].     Oh,  you  bad  boy. 
PIERRE.     Well,  of  course  I  don't  want  her  to  be  hurt. 
MARC.     But  we   wouldn't   care    much    if   she   didn't 
come  back. 

MARIE.     Boys,  how  can  you  be  so  naughty? 
PIERRE.     But,  Marie,  Toinette  never  does  a  thing  but 
scold  us  when  she's  around. 

MARIE.     She  tells  us  beautiful  fairy  stories  sometimes. 
MARC.     That's    just    it — "  sometimes."     You    don't 
catch  her  doing  it  unless  she  wants  to. 

PIERRE.     And  she's  just  a  regular  old  spoil-sport. 
MARC.     Oh,  bother  about  Toinette.    She'll  come  back 
a  good  deal  sooner  than  we  want  her.     Can't  you  talk 
about  anything  else? 

MARIE  [doubtfully].  Well,  it  is  pleasanter  when  she 
isn't  here,  I  know. 

PIERRE.     Of  course  it  is. 

MARIE.  But  I  hope  she's  having  a  good  time  some- 
where else. 

[Throughout  this  conversation  TOINETTE  lis- 
tens, horrified  at  first,  then  angry,  then 
distressed;  at  one  moment  about  to  ex- 
claim, then  starting  forward  to  strike  one 
of  the  boys,  and  at  last  covering  her  face 
with  her  hands  and  crying.  Enter 
MOTHER. 

MOTHER  [anxiously].  Not  a  trace  can  I  see  of  her. 
Children,  have  you  eaten  your  porridge?  Marie,  take 
Jeannette  to  bed.  [Exeunt  MARIE  and  JEANNETTE.] 
Boys,  go  out  and  cut  some  wood  for  our  Christmas  fire. 
[Exeunt  boys.]  There  will  be  no  Christmas  in  this  house 


TOINETTE  AND  THE  ELVES  41 

unless  Toinette  comes  back  soon.  [Sits  down  in  the 
rocker  to  warm  herself.]  Dear,  dear,  she  is  a  good  girl, 
and  a  clever  girl,  but  she  is  a  sore  puzzle  to  me.  What 
can  make  her  so  thoughtless  and  careless  and  full  of  dis- 
content? Why,  even  little  Marie  is  a  greater  help  to  me 
than  she  is. 

[Exit  TOINETTE  in  great  distress.  MOTHER 
sits  in  silence.  Enter  TOINETTE  without 
cloak,  throwing  herself  on  her  knees  at  her 
mother's  feet. 

TOINETTE.  Oh,  Mother,  Mother!  [Buries  her  face 
in  her  mother's  lap.] 

MOTHER  [trying  to  raise  her].  Toinette,  my  child! 
Where  have  you  been  all  this  time? 

TOINETTE  [with  great  excitement,  half  crying].  Oh, 
I've  been  here — right  here — all  the  time,  only  you 
couldn't  see  me. 

MOTHER.     Toinette! 

TOINETTE.  Yes,  Mother,  it's  all  true.  I'll  tell  you. 
A  fairy  came  and  lent  me  the  Cloak  of  Darkness — and — 
and — I  thought  it  would  be  such  fun,  but  it  was  horrid. 
And  then  the  children — they  said  such  cruel  things. 
Mother,  don't  they  love  me  at  all? 

MOTHER.  Mercy,  mercy,  what  is  all  this  about? 
Fairies — cloak  of  darkness — the  child  must  have  a  fever. 
[Feels  TOINETTE'S  forehead  and  takes  her  hand  as  if  to 
count  her  pulse.] 

TOINETTE.  No,  no!  I'm  not  sick  at  all.  But, 
Mother,  don't  you  love  me? 

MOTHER  [puts  her  arm  about  TOINETTE].  Love  you, 
my  child  ?  Mother  always  loves  you. 

TOINETTE.  But  you  said  I  didn't  help  you.  Oh,  I 
wish  the  fairy  had  never  given  me  the  cloak. 


42  TOINETTE  AND  THE  ELVES 

MOTHER.  Fairies  again!  [Anxiously.]  I  must  put 
the  child  to  bed  at  once.  Stay  by  the  fire,  Toinette.  I 
will  get  your  bed  ready.  [Rises,  leaving  TOINETTE 
seated  on  the  floor  by  chair.  Exit  MOTHER.] 

TOINETTE  [slowly].  Mother  thinks  I  dreamed  it — or 
that  I'm  sick.  But  I'm  not.  It's  all  true,  it's  all  true. 
[Covers  her  face  with  her  hands.]  How  could  the  chil- 
dren be  so  unkind?  .  .  .  But  perhaps  I'm  not  always 
kind  to  the  children.  The  boys  are  so  provoking — but 
then  I  needn't  scold  them  even  if  they  are.  And  Marie 
must  care  a  little,  for  she  hoped  I  was  happy  somewhere. 
Happy!  How  can  I  be  happy?  [Gazes  at  the  fire.] 
Perhaps  if  I  began  now,  and  tried  and  tried  every  day, 
I  could  be  kinder — to  the  children — and  then  they  would 
love  me  more — and  I  could  try  to  help  Mother — and 

then  she  needn't  be  so  tired  all  the  time And  surely, 

then  I  would  be  happy.  [Brightly,  facing  audience,  hands 
clasped  on  one  knee.]  Yes,  that's  just  what  I'll  do.  And 

now,  perhaps  I  can  help  Mother  this  very  minute I'll 

take  the  candle  up  to  her.  [Jumps  up,  takes  candle  from 
table,  pauses  in  center  of  the  stage.]  It  is  Christmas — I 
do  think  that  if  I  begin  to-morrow  to  try  to  be  kind, 
I  will  surely  succeed.  Because  Christmas  is  the  very 
best  and  happiest  day  in  all  the  whole  year.  It  was  on 
Christmas  Day  the  angels  first  sang  about  Peace  on 
earth,  good  will  to  men. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 

TIME:  One  year  later.     Christmas  Eve. 

SCENE:  Curtain  rises  showing  TOINETTE  and  MARIE 
seated,  sewing;  JEANNETTE  sits  upon  the  floor,  leaning 
against  TOINETTE'S  knee;  MARC  leans  over  the  back  of 
her  chair;  PIERRE  sits  in  the  big  chair  rocking  and  look- 
ing on.  All  are  singing  a  Christmas  carol.  Enter 
MOTHER,  pausing  a  moment  in  doorway  to  watch  and 
smile  at  the  group. 

MOTHER.     Come,  chickabiddies,  it  is  time  to  stop  work. 

MARIE  [going  to  MOTHER].  Oh,  Mother,  must  we 
stop  now?  Toinette  was  just  going  to  tell  us  the  Christ- 
mas story  about  the  Shepherds  and  the  Star  in  the  East. 

MOTHER.  It  is  supper-time  now,  and  Toinette  must 
set  the  table.  [Exit.] 

PIERRE.     And  after  supper  comes  bedtime.    Oh,  dear. 

TOINETTE  [cheerfully  folding  her  work].  Never 
mind,  Pierre,  I'll  tell  it  to  you  to-morrow. 

MARC.  That'll  be  Christmas  day,  Toinette.  I  wish 
you  could  tell  it  on  Christmas  Eve. 

TOINETTE.  Oh,  I  think  I  can  tell  it  better  on  Christ- 
mas day,  Marc.  Now  we  all  have  something  to  do, — 
let's  get  to  work.  Who  will  fetch  water  for  me  to- 
night ? 

MARC  and  PIERRE  [springing  for  the  pitcher].  I  will, 
I  will. 

MARC.     It's  my  turn,  Pierre. 
43 


44  TOINETTE  AND  THE  ELVES 

PIERRE.  No,  you  nearly  always  get  water  for  Toi- 
nette.  I'm  going  to. 

TOINETTE.  Let  Pierre  get  the  water,  Marc,  and  you 
go  and  cut  the  wood. 

MARC  and  PIERRE.     All  right,  Toinette.     [Exeunt.] 

MARIE.     What  can  we  do  for  you,  Toinette,  dear? 

TOINETTE.  Nothing  just  now,  I  think.  [TOINETTE 
is  spreading  the  cloth  and  setting  the  bowls  and  spoons.] 

JEANNETTE.  But  we  want  to  help,  too,  dear  Toi- 
nette. [Clings  to  her  skirt.] 

TOINETTE.  I'll  tell  you  what.  I'd  rather  send  my 
two  little  helpers  in  to  see  what  they  can  do  for  poor 
busy  Mother.  She  needs  them  more  than  I  do.  [Exit 
JEANNETTE.] 

MARIE  [following].  Won't  that  be  helping  you  too, 
Toinette  ? 

TOINETTE.  Yes,  dear.  [Exit  MARIE.]  How  good 
the  children  are  to-night!  I  do  think  they  are  the  best 
brothers  and  sisters  a  girl  ever  had.  [Lighting  the  can- 
dle.] And  I  think  they  love  me  more  than  they  ever 
used  to.  Oh,  I'm  so  glad!  [Tap  at  the  door.]  There  is 
someone  knocking.  [Goes  to  the  door.] 

HOLLYBERRY  [bowing  low].  How  do  you  do,  Toi- 
nette? A  Merry  Christmas  to  you. 

TOINETTE.  Oh,  how  wonderful.  It's  Hollyberry 
again,  and  I  was  just  thinking  about  you.  Won't  you 
come  in? 

HOLLYBERRY.  Just  for  a  moment.  [Enter  HOLLY- 
BERRY.  TOINETTE  closes  the  door.]  I've  brought  you  a 
Christmas  present,  Toinette.  [Holds  out  cloak  and  fern- 
seed  bag.] 

TOINETTE  [retreating,  hands  behind  her].  Oh,  no, 
no,  no!  I  know  what  those  are,  and  I  don't  want 


TOINETTE  AND  THE  ELVES  45 

them.  Oh!  Hollyberry,  they  made  me  so  unhappy  last 
year. 

HOLLYBERRY.     You  didn't  like  the  elves'  gift,  then? 

TOINETTE.     Oh,  it  was  horrid — I  hated  it. 

HOLLYBERRY  [severely'].  Do  you  call  that  being 
grateful ? 

TOINETTE  [confused].  Oh,  no — I  mean,  yes — that  is, 
it  was  very  kind  of  you — but  I  didn't  like  it.  Oh,  dear! 

HOLLYBERRY  [kindly].  Never  mind,  Toinette,  I'm 
only  teasing  you  now.  And  I  advise  you  to  take  the 
fern  seed.  You  will  like  it  better  this  year,  I'm  sure. 

TOINETTE  [anxiously].     Truly? 

HOLLYBERRY.  Truly.  [TOINETTE  takes  bag  and 
cloak.]  And  if  you  like  it  we  are  going  to  ask  a  favor 
of  you.  We  want  you  to  make  us  some  fern-seed  broth. 

TOINETTE.     Fern-seed  broth? 

HOLLYBERRY.  Yes,  elves  are  very  fond  of  it,  but  they 
don't  get  any  very  often,  because  it  has  to  be  made  over 
a  fire,  and  you  see  we're  afraid  of  fire.  We're  so  little 
and  light,  we  might  be  blown  in  and  burned  up. 

TOINETTE.     But  how  shall  I  make  it? 

HOLLYBERRY.  It's  very  easy.  We'll  show  you  how. 
And  now,  good-by.  We'll  come  in  by  and  by  when  the 
children  are  in  bed.  [Exit  with  a  bow.] 

TOINETTE  [looking  gravely  at  cloak  and  bag].  Oh, 
do  I  dare  use  them?  I  have  tried  to  be  kinder — I  know 

the  children  love  me  more Yes,  I  will.  [Runs  out. 

Boys  singing  carol  in  the  distance.  Enter  boys  singing, 
with  pitcher  and  wood.  Enter  MOTHER,  MARIE,  and 
JEANNETTE.] 

MOTHER.  Why,  the  supper  is  all  ready,  but  where  is 
that  busy  bee  of  ours,  Toinette?  [Goes  to  door  as  if  to 
call.] 


46  TOINETTE  AND  THE  ELVES 

PIERRE  [catches  her  ami].  Oh,  Mother,  wait  a  mo- 
ment; don't  call  her  yet!  You  know  we've  made  her 
some  Christmas  gifts,  and  we  want  to  put  them  on  her 
plate  and  surprise  her. 

MOTHER.     Run  and  get  them. 

MARC  [under  his  breath].  Hurry,  quick,  everybody. 
[Exit  children  in  haste.  MOTHER  takes  sauce- 
pan from  fire  and  fills  bowls.  Enter  chil- 
dren singing  carol,  each  bearing  a  home- 
made gift.  They  place  the  presents  about 
TOINETTE'S  place,  and  all  take  their  places 
at  the  table,  sitting  with  folded  hands  until 
hymn  is  ended.  During  the  singing  TOI- 
NETTE enters,  dressed  in  cloak,  and  stands 
near  door  [R.],  her  hands  clasped  in 
pleasure  at  the  sight. 

MARC  [looking  towards  the  door].  Oh,  I  wish  Toi- 
nette  would  hurry. 

MARIE.     Won't  she  be  surprised? 
PIERRE.     And  won't  she  look  jolly  surprised,  too?     I 
love  to  see  Toinette  when  she's  surprised.     Her  eyes  get 
so  big  and  shiny,  and  she  just  stares. 

MARC.  Andrew,  the  blacksmith's  son,  thinks  his  sister 
is  prettier  than  our  Toinette,  but  7  don't. 

PIERRE    [in  great  scorn].     Aw!   I   should  think  not. 
Our  Toinette  is  just  the  prettiest  girl  in  the  village. 
MARIE.     And  the  very  nicest,  too! 
MOTHER  [smiling'].     And  Toinette  is  Mother's  right 
hand.     We  all  love  Toinette!     Don't  we? 

TOINETTE  [softly].  Oh,  the  dear  little  things!  I 
can't  wait  a  minute  longer.  [Exit  quickly.] 

CHILDREN  [calling].  Toinette!  Toinette!  [Enter 
TOINETTE  without  cloak.  Shows  great  surprise.] 


TOINETTE  AND  THE  ELVES  47 

CHILDREN.  Merry  Christmas,  Merry  Christmas, 
Toinette ! 

TOINETTE.  Oh,  oh!  what  do  I  see?  [Sits  down  in 
her  place.]  Oh,  did  you  make  these  lovely  things,  chil- 
dren? 

PIERRE.     Yes,  mademoiselle,  we  did! 

MARC.     Every  one  of  them. 

MARIE.     Nobody  helped  us. 

JEANNETTE.  All  for  you,  Toinette,  all  for  you! 
[Leaves  her  chair  and  throws  her  arms  around  TOI- 
NETTE.] 

TOINETTE  [kissing  her].  Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you! 
How  beautifully  these  are  made.  [Looks  them  over  one 
at  a  time.]  How  good  everyone  is.  I'm  so  happy  I  don't 
know  what  to  do. 

PIERRE.     And  to-morrow's  Christmas!     Hurrah! 

MOTHER.  Yes,  dear,  but  if  you  don't  go  to  bed  and 
to  sleep,  Christmas  won't  come.  [Takes  JEANNETTE  by 
the  hand.]  We  will  leave  you  to  finish,  Toinette. 

CHILDREN.     Good-night,  Toinette! 

TOINETTE.  Good-night,  everyone!  [MARIE  and 
JEANNETTE  throw  their  arms  about  TOINETTE.] 

MARIE.  Good-night  again,  dear  Toinette!  [Exeunt 
all  but  TOINETTE,  who  clears  the  table,  shakes  off 
crumbs,  and  sets  fresh  bowls  and  spoons.  The  children 
are  heard  singing  carol.  When  all  is  ready  and  the  song 
is  done,  TOINETTE  goes  to  outer  door  and  looks  out. 
After  a  moment  the  elves  rush  in.] 

ELVES.     Here  we  are,  Toinette,  here  we  are! 

HOLLYBERRY.  Now  let's  proceed  to  business.  Where 
is  the  saucepan,  Toinette !  Icicle,  give  me  the  honey-dew ; 
Mistletoe,  you  have  the  fern  seed. 

[ToiNETTE    produces    the    saucepan    and    the 


48  TOINETTE  AND  THE  ELVES 

elves  crowd  around  her  and  hand  her  the 
articles  named.  The  honey-dew  is  sup- 
posed to  be  in  a  jar — or  pitcher — or  any- 
thing curious  or  unusual  in  appearance; 
the  fern  seed  in  a  quaint  box. 

HOLLYBERRY.     Now,    Evergreen,    give   me   the   holly 
stick  she  must  stir  it  with. 

[ToiNETTE  puts  it  on  the  fire,  the  elves  watch- 
ing with  great  interest. 

HOLLYBERRY.     It's  very  simple,  but  it  must  be  made 
with  great  care. 

MISTLETOE.     You  must  always  stir  it  the  same  way! 
EVERGREEN.     Or  else  it  will  curdle. 
ICICLE.     And  you  must  never  let  it  scorch! 

[ToiNETTE  bends  over  fire,  stirring  broth.     A 
very  gay  waltz  in  very  quick  time  is  played 
softly  outside,  and  the  four  elves  dance  and 
tumble  about,  coming  up  one  at  a  time  to 
peep    over    TOINETTE'S    shoulder.      They 
show  great  fear  of  the  fire,  however. 
TOINETTE.     Now,  little  Elves,  the  feast  is  ready! 
ELVES.     Oh,  joy!     Oh,  joy!     [All  seat  themselves  at 
table,  TOINETTE  pours  out  broth,  and  they  eat.     Music 
continues,  TOINETTE  refills  bowls,  and  elves  drink  from 
them,  tipping  their  heads  far  back  and  making  grotesque 
motions.     Music  grows  fainter.     Elves  rise  and  bow  to 
TOINETTE.] 

ELVES.     Thank  you,  Toinette!    Thank  you! 
EVERGREEN.     We've  had  a  merry  feast. 
MISTLETOE.     And  fairies  are  never  ungrateful. 
ICICLE.     When  you  need  us,  you'll  find  us  ready. 

[EVERGREEN,  MISTLETOE,  and  ICICLE  go  out- 


TOINETTE  AND  THE  ELVES  49 

side  and  stand  about  door.     HOLLYBERRY 
remains  within. 

TOINETTE.     But  I  haven't  thanked  you  at  all! 
HOLLYBERRY.     No    need    of    that,    Toinette.      [He 
brushes  door-post  with  his  holly  wandJ\     Be  lucky,  house! 
We   are   the   luck-bringers,    and   we   have   feasted   here! 
[Touches  TOINETTE  on  the  head  and  hands.]     Be  lucky, 
Toinette!     Good  temper,  and  kindness,  and  unselfishness 
are  the  very  hest  good  luck, 'after  all.     Now,  good-by! 
ELVES.     Good-by,  good-by!     Merry  Christmas  to  all! 
[Exeunt.    TOINETTE  closes  the  door  and  goes 
slowly  to  hearth,  where  she  sits  down  on 
floor,  resting  her  arm  on  a  chair  and  her 
head  on  her  hand. 

TOINETTE  [softly].  The  fairies  have  been  here,  and 
they  have  taught  me  a  lesson.  .  .  .  After  all,  it  isn't  the 
fairies  who  make  the  children  love  me,  or  me  love  the 
children.  ...  I  think — yes,  I'm  sure — that  it  is  Christ- 
mas that  makes  us  all  love  each  other ! 

[Her  head  drops,  and  she  falls  asleep.  The 
children's  voices  are  heard,  singing,  very 
softly  and  distinctly,  the  last  verse  of  the 
carol: 

"Thank  God  on  Christmas  morning! 
Thank  God,  O  children  dear." 

CURTAIN 


NOTES  ON  COSTUME  AND  SETTING 

The  children  are  dressed  in  peasant  costumes,  the  girls 
in  bright  skirts  and  stockings,  white  guimpes,  black  velvet 
bodices,  and  Normandy  caps;  the  boys  in  full  trousers, 
bright  stockings,  vests  of  green  or  blue,  fastening  in  the 
back,  white  shirts  with  full  sleeves,  and  toboggan  caps. 
Toinette  wears  shoes  with  buckles;  the  others  may  wear 
the  same,  or  sabots. 

MOTHER.  Plain  dark  dress,  with  full  skirt;  kerchief 
on  her  shoulders,  and  a  white  cap. 

The  magic  "  Cloak  of  Darkness "  brought  by  the 
Elves  for  Toinette,  is  a  long  cape,  with  hood  attached, 
made  of  light  gray  canton  flannel. 

The  Fern-seed  Bag  may  be  made  of  a  bit  of  the  same 
material,  or  of  the  colors  of  Hollyberry's  costume. 

The  Elves  wear  harlequin  costumes  in  two  shades  of 
the  same  color,  with  tall  pointed  hoods,  and  long  shoes 
with  toes  turned  up.  Gilt  bells  on  all  points  of  collar, 
jacket,  and  hood.  See  illustration.  Sateen  is  perhaps  the 
best  material  for  these  little  suits,  as  it  comes  in  a  great 
variety  of  rich  shades,  but  cheaper  goods  may  be  found. 

HOLLYBERRY.  Dark  red  and  scarlet.  He  carries  a 
holly  branch  in  lieu  of  a  wand. 

MISTLETOE.  Brown  and  yellow.  In  Act  II  he  carries 
an  odd  box  supposed  to  be  full  of  fern  seed. 

EVERGREEN.  Dark  and  light  green.  In  Act  II  he 
produces  the  holly  stick  for  stirring  the  broth. 

ICICLE.  Dark  and  light  blue.  In  Act  II  he  carries 
50 


TOINETTE  AND  THE  ELVES  51 

a  small  jar  or  pitcher, — something  curious  or  unusual  in 
appearance, — which  is  supposed  to  contain  the  honey-dew. 

Instead  of  the  gilt  bells,  the  points  of  these  suits  may 
be  trimmed  with  bits  of  holly,  mistletoe,  evergreen,  and 
glass  icicles,  as  indicated  by  the  names. 

In  setting  the  stage,  it  is  effective  to  make  small  win- 
dows, with  diamond-shaped  panes,  and  white  sash-cur- 
tains, placing  small  pots  of  scarlet  geraniums  on  the  sills. 

The  song  is  "  Good  News  on  Christmas  Morning," 
from  St.  Nicholas  Songs  (Century  Company). 

Where  music  is  indicated  through  the  play,  any  part 
of  the  carol  is  sung,  except  the  last  verse,  which  is  used 
only  once,  just  before  the  last  curtain.  For  the  Elves' 
dance,  the  Pizzicato  from  the  ballet  "  Sylvia  "  by  Delibes, 
Dvorak's  "  Humoresque,"  or  a  waltz,  very  lightly  played, 
may  be  used. 


TOM'S    PLAN 

IN  TWO  ACTS 


CHARACTERS 

FATHER  WRIGHT. 

MOTHER  WRIGHT. 

PHIL         ^ 

DAISY 

CHARLIE    \-  The  little  Wrights. 

TOM 

DOT 

SARAH,  the  nurse. 

SANTA  CLAUS. 


TOM'S   PLAN 

ACT  I 

TIME  :  Christmas  Eve. 

SCENE:  Nursery  or  sitting-room,  children  sitting 
about,  each  working  upon  a  Christmas  gift.  Nurse  at 
one  side  with  her  work-basket.  All  singing  a  Christmas 
carol* 

DAISY.  I  just  can't  believe  that  to-morrow  really  will 
be  Christmas!  .  .  .  What  do  you  think  of  that  for  a 
book-mark?  [Holds  it  up.]  Don't  you  suppose  Papa 
will  be  pleased? 

PHIL  [driving  a  last  nail  into  a  bootjack].  Papa 
says  he  can't  get  his  new  boots  off.  If  he  can't  do  it  now, 
with  this,  I'm  sure  he  never  will  be  able  to.  Isn't  that 
fine? 

SARAH.  Sure,  Master  Phil,  he'll  be  wantin'  a  new 
house  to  kape  that  big  thing  in ! 

DAISY.  Now,  Sarah,  you  mustn't  say  that!  You 
know  Papa  always  likes  the  things  we  make  for  him. 

DOT  [crossing  to  SARAH].  Sarah,  please  fasten  my 
thread.  .  .  .  Now,  my  spectacle-wiper  is  done.  Oh, 
boys,  don't  you  wish  it  was  to-morrow  morning! 

TOM.  You  bet!  I'm  going  to  do  Papa's  knife  up  in 
a  great  big  bundle,  so  he'll  think  it's  a  pair  of  slippers 
or  a  book,  anyway,  and  see  how  surprised  he'll  be. 

CHARLIE    [clapping    his    hands].     What    fun!     Say, 
Tom,  don't  you  wish  we  could  see  Santa  Claus? 
*  See  note  on  Carols,  p.  315. 
55 


56  TOM'S  PLAN 

PHIL.     Let's  try  and  stay  awake  all  night. 

DOT.  No!  you  bad  boys!  Santa  Claus  doesn't  like  to 
have  children  see  him  when  he  comes  to  put  things  in  the 
stockings. 

DAISY.  No,  of  course  he  doesn't.  And,  besides, 
Mamma  has  a  better  way.  She  told  me  to  ask  you  all 
whether  you  would  rather  hang  your  stockings  this  year, 
or  get  Santa  Claus  to  come  and  bring  us  a  tree. 

CHARLIE.  Oh,  jolly!  But  how  is  Santa  Claus  going 
to  know  in  time? 

PHIL.     That's  what  I'd  like  to  know. 

DAISY.  I  asked  Papa  that,  and  he  said,  Oh,  he 
guessed  he  could  telegraph. 

TOM.     Then  do  let's  have  him  come  here! 

CHILDREN.     Oh,  yes,  let's! 

DOT.  I  want  to  thank  him  for  my  dolly's  bed  that 
he  brought  last  year. 

DAISY.     Well,  I'll  go  tell  Mamma.     [Exit.] 

SARAH.  Ye'd  all  better  come  down  and  wrap  up  yer 
things  now. 

PHIL.  All  right.  Come  along.  [Exeunt  all  but 
TOM.] 

TOM.  I'll  be  along  in  a  minute.  [Looks  up  chim- 
ney.] I'm  so  glad  Santa  Claus  is  coming  this  year. 
[Crosses  to  front  of  stage  and  sits  astride  a  small  chair 
with  its  back  to  audience.]  There  are  so  many  things  I 
want  to  know  about  him.  I'm  just  going  to  count. 
[Checks  off  on  his  fingers.]  First,  I  want  to  know  where 
he  lives.  Daisy  says  he  lives  at  the  North  Pole,  and  she's 
got  a  picture  of  his  house,  with  icicles  and  snow  all  over 
it.  But  then  he  always  brings  us  oranges  and  bananas 
and  nuts  and  figs,  and  I  know  they  don't  grow  at  the 
North  Pole.  I  wish  I  could  find  out.  Next,  what  he 


TOM'S  PLAN  57 

feeds  the  reindeer  on.  Next,  how  he  ever  gets  all  the 
things  into  the  sleigh.  How  fast  the  reindeer  can  go. 
And  whether  they  ever  get  balky.  He'd  be  late  all  the 
time  if  they  did.  Horses  do,  but  perhaps  reindeer  are 
different.  But  the  one  thing  I'd  rather  know  than  all 
the  others  put  together,  is  just  this:  Sarah  said,  the  other 
day  when  I  took  a  bite  out  of  one  of  her  hot  pies,  that 
Santa  Claus  [very  slowly  and  impressively]  would  put  a 
whip  in  my  stocking!  Now  I  wonder  if  he  would  do 
that?  [Thinks  awhile,  then  shakes  his  head.]  No,  no! 
I  don't  believe  he  would.  He's  always  smiling  in  his 
pictures,  and  he  looks  so  jolly.  And  then,  if  anybody 
wanted  to  spend  all  his  time  giving  presents,  like  Santa 
Claus,  I  don't  believe  he  would  ever  put  ashes  or  whips 
in  anybody's  stocking,  just  because  he  forgot  the  pie  was 
for  company.  .  .  .  Oh,  dear!  I  wish  I  did  know.  [Jumps 
up  suddenly,  puts  one  knee  on  the  chair,  and  holds  on  to 
the  back  with  both  hands.]  Oh!  Oh!  I've  got  such 
a  splendid  plan!  It'll  be  easy  enough  to  find  out,  after 
all.  I  don't  really  want  anything  for  Christmas  this 
year  .  .  .  'cept  maybe  a  sled,  and  .  .  .  well,  I  guess 
Phil  will  let  me  coast  on  his  sled.  Now,  I'm  going  to 
be  just  as  cross,  as  cross  as  a  bear,  to-night  and  see  if 
Santa  Claus  will  give  me  a  whip.  I  don't  care — I  know 
he  won't!  Anyway,  Mamma  never  lets  anybody  whip 
me — only  Papa — and  if  Santa  Claus  wants  me  whipped 
he'll  have  to  give  the  whip  to  Papa.  There!  I  hear 
somebody  coming.  I'm  just  going  to  begin  right  off. 

CHARLIE  [calling,  without].  Tom,  Tom!  Aren't 
you  coming  to  wrap  up  your  things? 

TOM  [very  crossly].     No! 

CHARLIE  [much  surprised].     Why  not? 

TOM.     Don't    want    to.     [Chuckles]      He    sounded 


58  TOM'S  PLAN 

rather  surprised.  I  guess  they  won't  know  what  to  make 
of  it.  It'll  be  such  fun!  [Sits  astride  chair  again.] 
Here  comes  somebody  else.  I  won't  look  around.  [Puts 
his  head  down  on  his  arms.  Enter  DOT.] 

DOT.    Tom! 

TOM.     What  do  you  want? 

DOT  [timidly].     What's  the  matter,  Tom? 

TOM.     Ain't  nothing  the  matter. 

DOT  [aside].  Oh,  dear!  Tom,  do  you  want  me  to 
wrap  up  the  knife  for  you? 

TOM.  Can  if  you  want  to.  Here.  [Takes  it  from 
his  pocket  and  hands  it  to  her  without  looking  up.] 

DOT  [aside].  What  can  be  the  matter?  We  can't 
any  of  us  be  happy  if  Tom  isn't.  [Exit,  putting  her 
handkerchief  to  her  eyes.] 

TOM  [looking  after  her].  'Tisn't  so  much  fun  as  I 
thought.  [Puts  his  head  down.  Enter  SARAH.] 

SARAH  [hands  on  hips,  looking  at  TOM].  Well, 
what  'ud  be  the  trouble  here?  [Goes  about,  putting 
things  to  rights.  Dusts  chair,  giving  TOM  a  brush.] 

TOM  [hits  out  at  her].     Go  'way! 

SARAH.     Oh,  is  that  yerself  ? 

TOM.     Yes,  it's  meself. 

SARAH.     Well,  what's  the  matter  wid  yerself? 

TOM.  Never  you  mind  what!  [The  other  children 
run  in.] 

DAISY.  Oh,  Sarah,  Sarah,  give  us  our  coats,  quick! 
Papa  says  he'll  take  us  along  Fourth  Street,  to  see  the 
shop  windows  lighted  up! 

CHARLIE.     Do  hurry,  Sarah! 

DAISY.     I  can't  find  my  mittens! 

DOT  [softly,  nudging  PHIL].     Phil,  tell  Tom  to  come. 

PHIL.     Come  along,  Tom,  and  be  quick! 


TOM'S  PLAN  59 

TOM.    Won't. 

PHIL.    You  won't? 

CHARLIE.    Why  not? 

TOM.     Don't  want  to. 

CHARLIE.  Well,  then,  don't!  Come  on,  Dot! 
[Takes  her  by  the  arm,  and  leads  her  out.  PHIL  and 
DAISY  look  at  TOM.] 

DAISY.     Please  come,  Tom. 

TOM.     I  tell  you  I  won't. 

DAISY.     We'll  have  such  fun. 

TOM.     Well,  you  can  have  it  for  all  me. 

PHIL.  See  here,  Torn^  don't  be  a  donkey!  Come 
along!  [Takes  him  by  the  arm.} 

TOM   [shakes  him  off].     Get  out! 

DAISY.  Well,  I  suppose  we'll  have  to  go  without  him. 
Papa  is  waiting.  [They  start.]  Phil,  what  is  the  matter 
with  Tom? 

PHIL.  I  don't  know.  Dot  said  he  was  cross 

[Exeunt. 

SARAH.  Ye'd  betther  remember  what  I  was  a-tellin' 
ye,  Master  Tom.  Ye  gettin'  ready  for  the  stick? 

TOM.     You  be  still  and  clear  out,  Sarah! 

SARAH.  Oh,  I'm  a-goin' — I'm  a-goin'!  Shall  I  tell 
Santa  Claus  to  make  it  out  of  rattan,  Master  Tom? 

TOM.  Go  on  out,  I  say!  [Chases  her  out.]  Well, 
it's  some  fun  to  be  cross  to  Sarah,  but  I  really  don't  like 
to  be  cross  to  Dot  and  the  others.  Oh,  dear!  I  wish 
I  didn't  have  to.  [Sees  SARAH'S  dust-cloth,  which  he 
rolls  into  a  wad  and  tucks  into  a  cap  lying  on  one  of  the 
chairs.]  He-he!  that'll  fix  her.  Now  she  can't  find  it. 
[Enter  SARAH.  TOM  sits  down  by  the  fire,  holding  his 
knee.]  What  do  you  want? 

SARAH.     Oh,   my  clearin'-up's  not  done  yet!     I   de- 


60  TOM'S  PLAN 

clare,  if  I've  redd  up  this  room  once,  I've  done  it  forty 
times  this  day.  [Straightens  things,  then  looks  for  her 
duster.  TOM  watches  slyly. ~\  Did  I  take  that  cloth 
downstairs  wid  me?  Sure,  I  know  I  didn't.  Where  did 
I  put  it,  then?  'Tain't  here  annywheres.  Maybe  that 
little  squirrel  hid  it.  Seen  my  duster,  Tom? 

TOM.     No,  I  don't  see  your  duster. 

SARAH.  Did  I  ax  ye  if  ye  saw  it  now?  I  said,  have 
ye  sane  it? 

TOM.     And  I  said  I  didn't  see  it. 

SARAH.  Well,  ye  little  fox,  I  know  yer  tricks,  and 
I'll  find  it  yet.  Them  as  hides,  finds,  but  sometimes  other 
folks  can  find,  too,  when  they  know  who  did  the  hiding. 
Ah!  what  did  I  tell  ye!  I've  got  it  at  last.  I  knew  ye 
put  it  somewheres.  Now  I  can  get  my  work  done. 

TOM.     Well,  don't  you  bother  me. 

SARAH  [stands  with  hands  on  hips,  looking  at  TOM, 
who  scowls  at  her].  If  I  were  you,  I  wouldn't  scowl 
like  that,  Master  Tom ;  yer  furhead  might  stay  that  way. 

TOM.     If  I  were  you,  I  wouldn't  either. 

SARAH.     Ye  don't  look  a  bit  pretty,  Master  Tom. 

TOM.     You  don't  have  to  look  at  me. 

SARAH.  See,  this  is  what  ye  look  like.  [Makes  a  face 
and  hunches  up  her  shoulders.  TOM  refuses  to  look.] 
Do  ye  think  that's  rale  handsome?  [Aside.]  Well, 
since  I  can't  t'ase  ye  into  a  good  humor,  I'll  go  on  down. 

[Exit. 

TOM.  I  did  want  to  laugh  at  her  awfully.  If  she 
comes  in  again,  I  think  I'll  just  have  to. 

[Enter  DAISY  and  PHIL. 

DAISY.  We  didn't  go  far,  because  it  was  so  late. 
Phil,  did  you  ever  see  anything  so  perfectly  grand  as 
that  last  window?  [Taking  off  things.] 


TOM'S  PLAN  61 

PHIL.     Never!    Don't  I  wish  I  had  that  air-rifle! 

DAISY.  I'd  rather  have  the  doll's  piano  than  anything 
else. 

[Enter    SARAH    with    DOT    and    CHARLIE. 
SARAH  takes  children's  coats,  etc. 

SARAH.  Here,  give  me  yer  coats.  Now  just  sit  down 
and  get  warm  for  a  minute,  and  then  ye've  got  to  go  to 
bed.  Yer  Ma  said  so. 

DAISY.  Let's  sing  while  we're  here.  We  don't  know 
our  new  carol  very  well.  [All  begin  to  sing  a  carol. 
TOM  claps,  stamps,  whistles,  and  bangs  his  chair  up  and 
down,  to  put  them  out.  They  stop.] 

CHARLIE.  See  here,  Tom,  if  you  don't  want  to  sing, 
you  don't  have  to,  but  you  shan't  stop  us! 

SARAH.  No,  sir!  That  ye  shall  not.  Ye  can't  stay 
here  makin'  disturbances,  so  just  be  off  with  ye  to  bed. 
[Pushes  him  out.  Children  sing  a  carol,  and  curtain  falls 
during  last  verse.] 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 

TIME:  Christmas  morning. 

SCENE:  Sitting-room  with  open  fire  [back  Center]  in 
fireplace  through  which  SANTA  CLAUS  may  enter.  FA- 
THER and  MOTHER  sitting  by  fire,  FATHER  with  paper, 
MOTHER  sewing.  PHIL  and  CHARLIE  in  one  corner  \R. 
Front],  reading  together.  DAISY  and  DOT  [L.  Front] 
with  dolls. 

DAISY.  And  I  caught  Mamma!  I  hid  behind  the 
door,  and  jumped  out  and  shouted  "  Merry  Christmas!  " 
before  she  saw  me  at  all. 

DOT  [leaning  towards  DAISY].  Daisy,  let's  say  it  to 
Santa  Claus. 

DAISY.     Oh,  do  you  suppose  he  would  like  it? 

DOT.     Why  not? 

DAISY.  Yes,  I  guess  he  would.  Dear  Santa  Claus, 
nobody  ever  thinks  of  saying  "  Merry  Christmas "  to 
him. 

DOT.  Poor  man!  Well,  Daisy,  his  little  boys  and 
girls  might  say  it  to  him. 

DAISY.  Oh,  Dot!  He  hasn't  any  little  boys  and 
girls  to  say  it.  Don't  you  know  he's  an  old  man,  oh, 
hundreds  of  years  old?  And  if  he  ever  did  have  any 
little  boys  and  girls,  they're  all  grown  up  by  this  time. 

DOT.     Maybe  he's  got  some  grandchildren. 

DAISY.  No,  I  don't  believe  he  has,  for  then  why  do 
they  let  him  do  all  the  work?  Nobody  ever  fills  stock- 
ings but  Santa  Claus. 

62 


TOM'S  PLAN  63 

DOT.     Poor  Santa  Claus!    He  must  get  very  tired. 

DAISY.  I  wonder  ...  I  wonder  who  keeps  house 
for  Santa  Claus? 

DOT.     Maybe  nobody  does. 

DAISY.  Oh,  yes!  He  must  have  somebody  to  make 
his  fires,  and  cook  his  meals,  and  darn  his  socks. 

DOT.  Why,  he  doesn't  wear  socks.  Don't  you  know, 
he's  all  dressed  in  fur  in  the  pictures.  But  perhaps  fur 
wears  out  and  has  to  be  mended.  I'd  like  to  help  her 
do  it. 

DAISY.  Perhaps  she's  a  real  cross,  ugly  woman,  and 
scolds  him  when  he  stays  out  too  long  filling  stockings, 
and  doesn't  give  him  enough  sugar  in  his  tea,  and  never 
lets  him  have  but  one  cup! 

DOT  [shaking  her  head].  Poor  Santa  Claus!  Aren't 
you  sorry  for  him,  Daisy?  I  am.  [DAISY  nods.]  Daisy, 
if  he  hasn't  any  little  children,  I  don't  suppose  anybody 
ever  gives  him  any  Christmas  presents? 

DAISY  [pityingly].    No,  I  don't  suppose  anyone  ever  does. 

DOT  [excitedly].  Oh,  Daisy,  let's  us  give  him  a  pres- 
ent this  year! 

DAISY.  Oh,  how  splendid!  Of  course  we  will.  But 
what  do  you  think  he  would  like? 

DOT.  Let's  think.  He  travels  all  the  time.  Perhaps 
he  would  like  a  comb  and  brush  case. 

DAISY.  Dot!  You  don't  suppose  he  can  ever  comb 
out  all  that  hair!  It's  a  great  deal  too  thick  and  snarly. 
He  doesn't  use  a  comb  and  brush. 

DOT.     Well,  I'll  give  him  my  new  purse. 

DAISY.  Santa  Claus  doesn't  need  a  pocketbook  to 
carry  money — he  doesn't  buy  things. 

DOT.  But  he  might  come  to  a  toll-gate  on  the  road, 
sometime. 


64  TOM'S  PLAN 

DAISY.  All  right.  And  I'll  give  him  my  silk  muf- 
fler, for  I'm  afraid  his  housekeeper  doesn't  give  him 
enough  warm  clothes.  Come,  let's  get  them.  [Exeunt.] 

CHARLIE.     What's  this  picture  about,  Phil? 

PHIL.  That's  where  Santa  Claus  is  coming  down  our 
chimney. 

CHARLIE.  I  wonder  why  he  likes  to  come  down 
chimneys?  I'd  have  a  latchkey,  and  come  in  at  the  front 
door. 

PHIL.  Everybody  doesn't  have  a  front  door  just  like 
ours,  Charlie.  His  key  wouldn't  fit  all  the  doors. 

CHARLIE.  But  I'd  have  a  magic  key,  that  did.  When 
Papa  shaves,  and  puts  that  white  stuff  all  over  his  face, 
he  looks  just  like  Santa  Claus,  but  he  wouldn't  look  like 
him  long  if  he  put  his  head  up  the  chimney.  Santa  Claus 
must  get  very  dirty, — perhaps  he  looks  like  the  chimney- 
sweep. 

PHIL.  Oh,  no,  he  doesn't.  You'll  see  how  he  looks 
pretty  soon.  Come  along,  let's  try  our  new  sleds. 

[Exeunt. 

MOTHER.  My  dear,  I  want  to  speak  to  you.  [FA- 
THER drops  paper.]  Sarah  tells  me  that  Tom  has  been 
very  naughty  and  cross.  He  wouldn't  do  as  she  told  him, 
and  was  disagreeable  to  the  other  children. 

FATHER.  Tom!  Why,  he's  the  best-tempered  chicken 
I've  got. 

MOTHER.  I  believe  you  think  so  just  because  he's 
named  after  you.  But  he  is  really  dreadfully  provoking 
sometimes,  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  him  now. 

FATHER.  Oh,  ho!  You've  given  up  in  despair,  and 
want  to  fall  back  on  me? 

MOTHER.     Not    at   all.     But    I'd    like   your    advice. 


TOM'S  PLAN  65 

Would  you  pay  no  attention  to  it,  or  would  you  take  him 
to  task  for  his  naughtiness? 

FATHER.  Mary,  I  always  told  you  you  couldn't  man- 
age the  boys.  You  are  too  gentle  and  yielding.  You 
are  never  strict  enough.  You  ought  to  be  firm,  my  dear! 

MOTHER.  Firm  like  yourself?  Oh,  Tom,  who  was 
it  that  wouldn't  punish  the  boys  when  they  played  truant, 
and  pretended  to  know  nothing  about  it  when  they  went 
in  swimming  unbeknownst? 

FATHER.  Oh,  well,  Mary,  you  couldn't  expect  me 
to  be  hard  on  them  for  the  very  things  I  did  myself! 

MOTHER.  I  knew  I  couldn't,  so  I  attended  to  them 
myself.  But  I'll  just  send  Tom  in  here,  and  let  you  try 
your  luck  with  him.  [Exit.] 

FATHER.  Try  my  luck,  indeed!  I  flatter  myself 
that  I'll  soon  bring  him  around.  [Stands  before  fire. 
Enter  TOM,  very  slowly,  hands  in  pockets.]  Good-morn- 
ing, Tom.  [Very  pleasantly.] 

TOM  [mutters].     Morning. 

FATHER.  That  is  no  way  to  speak,  my  son.  Good- 
morning,  Tom. 

TOM  [a  little  louder].     Morning. 

FATHER.  See  here,  Tom,  we  can't  have  this.  Your 
mother  says  you  haven't  been  very  good. 

TOM.     Don't  care. 

FATHER.  Thomas,  that  is  not  a  respectful  way  to 
speak  to  your  father.  What  do  you  mean  by  it,  sir?  [No 
answer.]  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me?  [ToM  is  silent,  and 
stands  looking  down  and  kicking  the  leg  of  a  chair.] 
Go  upstairs  and  stay  there  until  I  send  for  you.  [Exit 
TOM.]  This  is  most  extraordinary!  What  can  have 
got  into  the  child  ? 

[Enter  MOTHER. 


66  TOM'S  PLAN 

FATHER.    Ah,  here's  Mary  again. 

MOTHER.     Well,  what  did  you  say? 

FATHER.     I — a — I  scolded  him. 

MOTHER.     What  did  he  say? 

FATHER.  He  said — well — in  fact,  he  didn't  say  any- 
thing. 

MOTHER.  Wouldn't,  you  mean.  Did  you  punish 
him? 

FATHER.  Punish  him?  No,  I  didn't  punish  him. 
Come,  now,  Mary,  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  want  me 
to  punish  him  on  Christmas  morning?  I  really  couldn't 
do  that. 

MOTHER.     Oh,  no,  I  don't  want  you  to  punish  him. 

FATHER.  Well,  my  dear,  on  the  whole,  I  think  per- 
haps you'd  better  talk  to  him.  I'll  send  him  down. 

[Exit. 

MOTHER.  I  didn't  think  Tom  could  do  much  with 
that  boy  when  he  was  contrary.  [Enter  TOM.]  Well, 
Tom,  dear,  don't  you  want  to  come  and  sit  with  Mamma 
a  little  while? 

TOM  [rather  doubtfully].     Ye-es. 

MOTHER.  Here  is  your  little  chair  all  ready.  [ToM 
sits  down  with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  his  chin  in 
his  hands.]  Sarah  has  told  me  something  that  makes  me 
sorry.  She  said  that  you  were  naughty  last  night?  Is 
that  so? 

TOM  [reluctantly].     Yes,  I  was  cross. 

MOTHER.     She  said  you  were  cross  again  this  morning. 

TOM.     Yes,  I  was  naughty  this  morning,  too. 

MOTHER.  Oh-h-h,  Tommy!  I'm  so  sorry  to  have 
my  little  boy  so  naughty  on  Christmas  Day.  Don't  you 
think  that  when  people  want  to  be  happy  and  glad,  every- 
one ought  to  be  good  and  pleasant,  too? 


TOM'S  PLAN  67 

TOM  [the  words  drawn  out  against  his  will}.  Yes,  I 
think  so. 

MOTHER.  And  then  there  is  the  beautiful  story  of 
that  wonderful  first  Christmas.  Don't  you  think  people 
were  very  happy  on  that  Day?  And  you  know  we  al- 
ways think  of  that  on  Christmas,  now. 

TOM.     Oh,  yes,  I  do  too. 

MOTHER  [reproachfully].  Then,  Tom,  how  could 
you  be  so  naughty? 

TOM.  Well,  Mamma,  do  you  think  it's  so  dreadiully 
naughty  to  be  cross? 

MOTHER.  It  is  not  so  naughty  as  some  things  you 
might  do,  but  it  is  making  other  people  unhappy,  and 
don't  you  think  that  is  pretty  bad? 

TOM.  Well,  Mamma,  if  a  fellow  didn't  feel  cross  at 
all,  but  had  a  very  good  reason  for  being  cross,  would 
that  be  naughty? 

MOTHER.  I  don't  think  there  can  be  any  good  reason 
for  being  cross. 

TOM.     I  do. 

MOTHER.     What  is  it? 

TOM.  It's  a  secret.  It's  a  very  good  reason.  I'm 
sorry  it's  naughty.  I  didn't  think  it  was.  But  I'm  not 
sorry  I  did  it. 

MOTHER.  Oh,  Tommy,  it  makes  me  feel  badly  to 
hear  you  talk  so.  I'll  leave  you  here,  and  let  you  think 
it  over.  Perhaps  you'll  feel  pleasanter  after  awhile. 
You  can  call  me  when  you  do. 

TOM  [leaving  his  little  chair  for  a  big  one].  I'm 
sorry  they  all  think  I'm  so  bad,  and  I'm  really  very  tired 
of  being  cross,  but  I  must  find  out  about  Santa  Claus,  for 
if  he's  the  kind  of  man  that  would  bring  anybody  ashes 
or  whips  on  Christmas,  I  don't  believe  I'll  like  him  at 


68  TOM'S  PLAN 

all!  [Jingling  of  bells  in  chimney, .]  What's  that? 
[Louder  bells-]  I  do  believe  he's  coming  now!  [Jumps 
up.]  Oh,  dear!  where  are  the  others?  I  wish  they 
would  come!  I — I — I  guess  I'm  just  a  little  bit  afraid! 
[Gets  behind  his  chair.  Enter  SANTA  CLAUS  through 
the  fireplace.] 

SANTA  CLAUS.  That's  a  fine  wide  chimney !  [Stoops 
to  look  up  it.]  Why  doesn't  everybody  keep  a  chimney 
like  that  for  my  special  use?  [Comes  front.]  I'm  sure 
when  I  only  come  once  a  year,  I  ought  to  have  some 
attention  paid  to  my  wants! 

TOM   [faintly].     Santa  Glaus! 

SANTA  CLAUS.  Hello!  What's  this?  Where  are 
you,  anyway?  [Looks  about,  then  over  chair,  and  sees 
TOM.]  What!  Hiding  from  me?  Come  out  at  once, 
and  tell  me  what's  the  matter  with  you. 

TOM  [coming  out].  Santa  Glaus,  have  you  got  the 
whip  and  ashes? 

SANTA  GLAUS.  Whip  and  ashes!  Bless  me,  what's 
the  boy  talking  about?  Whip?  I  left  my  sleigh  whip 
on  the  roof,  if  that's  what  you  mean,  and  I  never  carry 
ashes  around  with  me.  What  are  you  driving  at?  Hey? 

TOM.  Sarah  said  you  gave  whips  to  bad  boys,  and 
I've  been  very  naughty — oh,  dreadfully  naughty! 

SANTA  GLAUS.  Naughty?  Dear,  dear!  I'm  sorry  to 
hear  that!  And  on  Christmas,  too!  What  a  pity! 
When  you  knew  I  was  coming?  Dear,  dear,  dear! 

TOM.     Have  you  got  the  whip,  then? 

SANTA  CLAUS.  No,  no!  I  never  give  anybody  whips 
— excepting  toy  ones,  with  a  whistle  in  the  end,  like 
this — [gives  TOM  one] — and  Sarah  was  just  teasing  you. 
I'll  have  to  see  Sarah  about  that.  I  won't  have  anybody 
telling  stories  about  me.  But,  dear,  dear,  it  makes  me 


TOM'S  PLAN  69 

unhappy  to  think  you  could  be  so  naughty.    Why  did  you 
do  it? 

TOM  [looks  around  cautiously].  Don't  tell  anybody, 
Santa  Claus,  but  I  was  naughty  on  purpose,  just  to  see 
if  you  would  give  me  a  whip. 

SANTA  CLAUS.  Well,  that's  a  joke !  Don't  you  know 
enough  to  see  that  you  ought  to  have  waited  to  ask  me, 
instead  of  running  such  a  risk? 

TOM  [remorsefully].  Sure  enough!  I  could  have 
done  that!  And  now  I've  gone  and  made  them  all  feel 
sorry,  just  for  nothing.  [Enter  FATHER  and  MOTHER. 
FATHER.  Well,  well,  here's  Santa  Claus!  I  haven't 
seen  you  for  a  long  time.  How  do  you  do,  sir,  how  do 
you  do?  [They  shake  hands.] 

MOTHER  [at  door].  Children!  Children!  Come 
here!  [Enter  children. 

CHILDREN.     Oh,  Santa  Claus!     Santa  Claus! 
DAISY  and  DOT.     Merry  Christmas,  Santa  Claus! 
DAISY.     We've    got    some    presents    for    you,    Santa 
Claus.     Dot  and  I  thought  nobody  would  remember  to 
give  you  anything,  so  we  wanted  to.     [Giving  presents .] 
SANTA  CLAUS.     Well,  really,  my  dears,  these  are  very 
nice.     Bless  your  little  hearts,  nobody  has  remembered 
me  for  some  time,  and  that's  a  fact!     Mr.  Wright,  how 
have  these  children  been  behaving  themselves?     Can   I 
give  them  the  nice  things  I  have  brought  for  them? 

FATHER.  Yes,  sir!  I'm  happy  to  say,  they  have  been 
very  good,  very  good,  indeed.  Oh — [aside] — now  I'm 
forgetting  that  rascal,  Tom!  [To  SANTA  CLAUS.] 
That  is — they've  all  been  good  except  one — and  he — a — 

well 

MOTHER  [looking  at  TOM].  He  is  sorry  now,  I  hope, 
Santa  Claus,  and  will  try  not  to  do  so  any  more. 


70  TOM'S  PLAN 

SANTA  CLAUS.  Oh!  Ha-ha!  }rou're  talking  about 
this  fellow,  are  you?  [Puts  his  hand  on  TOM'S  shoulder 
and  draws  him  forward.}  Well,  he's  just  been  explain- 
ing to  me  that  it  was  all  a  mistake 

FATHER  [sternly].  I  hope  he  has  not  been  trying  to 
hide  his  misdoings  from  you,  Santa  Claus. 

SANTA  CLAUS.  Not  at  all,  sir,  not  at  all.  He  con- 
fessed like  a  man.  But  there  is  this  about  it  that  you 
didn't  know.  Somebody  told  him  that  I  put  whips  in 
the  stockings  of  naughty  children.  Well,  he  naturally 
thought  I  was  to  be  distrusted — shocking  way  to  malign 
me,  wasn't  it? — and  of  course  he  wanted  to  find  out. 
So  what  did  he  do  to  test  me  but  try  to  be  naughty — 
acted  it  out  to  perfection,  I've  no  doubt.  Pretty  severe 
on  his  brothers  and  sisters  and  parents,  wasn't  it? 
[SANTA  CLAUS  and  FATHER  laugh.~\ 

MOTHER.  Why,  Tommy,  it's  a  pity  you  didn't  just 
come  to  me  and  ask  about  it.  It  would  have  saved  so 
much  trouble.  Why  didn't  you  do  that? 

TOM.     I  never  once  thought  of  that  way,  Mamma! 

SANTA  CLAUS.  Well,  my  son,  your  thinking-cap  is 
the  only  cap  you  don't  have  to  take  off  in  the  house,  so 
remember  to  keep  it  on,  next  time.  Mr.  Wright,  I'm 
sure  he  feels  sorry  enough  about  his  mistake  to  justify  me 
in  giving  him  his  full  share  of  presents.  Come,  children, 
look  and  see  what  I've  got  for  you.  I  brought  it  last 
night,  to  have  it  all  ready,  and  I  think  it  ought  to  hold 
enough  for  all,  don't  you  ? 

[Curtains  at  side  of  stage  fall,  and  disclose 
the  Tree*  General  distribution  of  pres- 
ents follows. 

*  See  note  on  Tree,  p.  314,  and  on  Tree-songs,  p.  315. 

i 


NOTES  ON  COSTUME  AND  SETTING 

For  this  play,  ordinary  costume  is  all  that  is  required. 
Adult  parts  are  taken  by  two  girls  and  a  boy,  of  fourteen 
or  fifteen,  and  these,  of  course,  need  something  especial, 
but  little  girls  can  easily  borrow  their  equipment  from 
mothers  or  sisters.  Father  Wright  should  wear  a  mus- 
tache and,  if  desired,  a  beard. 

For  Santa  Claus  costume,  see  note,  p.  313. 

See  note  on  fireplace,  p.  313. 


THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY 

IN  TWO  ACTS 


CHARACTERS 

FATHER  BROWNE. 
MOTHER  BROWNE. 
AUNT  JENNIE. 

DICK  |  The  little  Brownes      (Eight  and  six  years  old.) 

DOT    j 

MARY,  the  nurse. 

JOHN,  the  man. 

JIM       )  A  newsboy  and  his  sister,  both  ragged.    (About 

POLLY  j      the  age  of  Dick  and  Dot.) 

THE  FIVE  LITTLE  BLAIRS. 

THE  TWO  LITTLE  GRAYS. 

SALLIE  LEE. 

COOK'S  SISTER'S  CHILDREN. 

And  SANTA  CLAUS. 


THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY 


THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY 

ACT  I 

TIME:  Afternoon  of  the  24th  of  December. 

SCENE:  A  street  corner  on  a  snowy  day.  Barrels  and 
boxes  in  front  of  a  small  grocery  store.  Enter  DlCK  and 
DOT,  well  wrapped  up,  dragging  a  sled. 

DICK.  Whew!  that's  a  dandy  coast,  but  it's  pretty 
hard  work  pulling  up. 

DOT.  Let's  sit  down  a  minute  and  rest.  [They  draw 
sled  to  left  of  stage  and  sit  down  side  by  side  on  it.] 
I'm  so  tired.  Oh,  Dick,  I  thought  we  were  going  to 
run  over  that  poor  gray  cat,  didn't  you? 

DICK  [nodding].  It's  lucky  for  her  that  she  knew 
how  to  jump.  The  Comet  would  have  hit  her  sure! 
This  rope  needs  tying  tighter.  [Goes  to  front  of  sled 
and  kneels  down,  fixing  rope.] 

DOT  [looking  around].  It's  so  nice  and  quiet  here. 
No  big  boys  ever  coast  on  this  street.  Big  boys  always 
bump  into  you. 

DICK  [shaking  his  mitten  at  her].  Now,  Dot,  that's 
just  the  very  reason  I  don't  like  it.  You  don't  know  how 
much  more  fun  it  would  be  to  have  just  lots  and  lots 
of  boys  on  this  track  all  the  time,  climbing  up  and  whiz- 
zing down.  I  bet  none  of  them  could  beat  this  old  sled. 

DOT  [doubtfully].  Maybe  it  would  be  nice,  but, 
Dick,  I  think  it's  such  fun  to  have  just  us  two. 

DICK.     That's  just  because  you're   a  girl   and   don't 
75 


76  THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY 

know.  Come  along,  let's  try  the  hill  again.  Shall  we 
go  over  the  bump? 

DOT.     No,  I'm  afraid.    Let's  start  down  here. 

[Exeunt. 
[Enter  from  Left,  JIM  and  POLLY. 

JIM.  If  you're  very  cold,  Sister,  we  can  go  home  right 
off  now,  but  I've  got  four  papers  left,  and  I  want  awful 
bad  to  sell  'em,  every  one,  so's  I  can  take  the  money  to 
Granny. 

POLLY.  No,  I'm  not  so  dreadful  cold,  Jim.  And, 
'sides,  maybe  Granny's  not  got  home  yet  from  work,  and 
then  you  know  we'd  just  have  to  sit  on  the  doorstep  and 
wait. 

JIM.  We'll  stay  right  here.  Folks  will  be  going  home 
soon,  and  lots  of  men  pass  this  corner.  Here's  a  nice 
box  to  sit  on;  I  don't  believe  the  store  man  will  mind. 
You  sit  on  that  side,  so,  Polly,  and  I'll  sit  here,  so,  for 
the  wind's  blowing  this  way,  and  if  I  sit  here  it  will  hit 
me  first,  and  I  can  keep  it  off  o'  you.  [They  sit  back 
to  back  on  the  box] 

POLLY.     Oh,  Jim,  I'm  afraid  you'll  be  cold. 

JIM.  Oh,  no,  I  won't.  [Two  men  cross  stag e  arm 
in  arm.]  Here's  your  Times,  Star,  Evening  Post.  Last 
edition.  [Men  shake  their  heads.]  [Looking  after 
men.]  Pshaw!  Well,  maybe  the  next  feller'll  want  one. 
[To  POLLY.]  See,  Polly,  I  can't  be  cold,  I  just  stuff 

my  hands  in  my  pockets [His  hand  comes  through.] 

No,  that's  the  wrong  place.  I  just  stuff  my  hands  in 
my  pockets  like  this,  and  then  I  kick  my  heels  like  this. 
[Kicks  on  box  with  his  heels]  That's  very  warming. 
And  then  I  whistle.  [Whistles  lively  tune]  If  you 
just  whistle  you  don't  have  time  to  think  about  the  wind, 
see! 


THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY  77 

POLLY  [drums  with  her  heels  and  tries  to  whistle]. 
But  it  hurts  to  kick  your  heels,  and  I  can't  whistle. 

JIM.  I'll  tell  you  what.  Let's  try  singing.  Perhaps 
that's  just  as  warming.  Let's  sing  Granny's  Christmas 
song.  [  They  sing  a  verse  of  "  God  rest  ye,  merry  gen- 
tlemen" or  some  other  old-world  carol.] 

POLLY.     Jim,  is  to-morrow  Christmas? 

JIM  [gloomily].  Yes,  to-morrow's  Christmas. 
[Aside.]  And  if  somebody  don't  buy  these  papers  pretty 
soon,  I  won't  have  enough  pennies  to  get  [counts  on  his 
fingers]  that  penny  paper  doll;  nor  the  penny  washtub, 
nor  the  jumping  Jack,  nor  the  paint  box,  'cause  that's 
three  cents.  [Enter  man.]  Here's  your  evenin'  paper, 
sir!  [Man  stops  and  takes  one.  Exit.] 

[Enter   DICK  and   DOT,   cross  stage,  and  sit 
down  as  before. 

DOT.     Wasn't  that  a  nice  coast,  Dick? 

DICK  [absently].  Yes.  [Rests  his  chin  in  his  hands 
and  elbows  on  his  knees.]  Dot,  I  do  wish  we  lived  in 
an  orphan  asylum. 

DOT  [jumps].  Oh-h!  Why,  Dicky  Browne,  you 
wouldn't  have  any  papa  nor  mamma  nor  Aunt  Jennie, 
nor  anybody,  nor  anybody. 

DICK.  But  just  think  what  lots  of  brothers  and  sisters 
we'd  have. 

DOT.  Well,  you're  all  the  brothers  I  want;  'nd  I 
wouldn't  give  up  Papa  and  Mamma  for  all  the  sisters  in 
the  world ;  so  now. 

DICK.  Well,  neither  would  I,  but  can't  you  see  how 
much  nicer  times  we  would  have  if  there  was  a  lot  of 
us,  on  holidays  especially? 

DOT.  Well,  I  think  we  have  an  awfully  good  time, 
anyway.  You  said  you  liked  Thanksgiving. 


78  THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY 

DlCK.  That  was  because  of  the  dinner  part.  When 
we  tried  to  play  games  and  dance  afterwards,  what  did 
we  do?  We  played  Hide  the  Thimble,  and  if  I  hid  it 
there  was  only  you  to  look,  and  of  course  you  couldn't 
help  rinding  it  first.  We  had  to  play  Going  to  Jerusalem 
with  just  one  chair,  and  the  two  of  us  went  around  and 
around  and  around  till  we  felt  like  the  "  Little  Rid  Hin  " 
in  John's  story.  I  declare  there  aren't  enough  of  us  to 
play  Puss-in-the-corner.  Two  children  can't  have  any 
fun.  [Puts  his  head  down  on  his  arms.] 

DOT  [sighs'].     That's  so. 

DICK  [lifts  up  his  head  suddenly].  And  I'd  just  like 
to  know  what's  the  fun  of  coasting  when  you  haven't 
anything  to  shout  "  clear  the  track  "  at,  but  ash  barrels, 
and  hens  and  cats  that  you  can't  run  over  anyway.  I 
wish  there  were  forty-'leven  boys  on  the  track  this 
minute. 

DOT.  Well,  I  don't  care  about  the  track,  but  brothers 
and  sisters  are  nice  to  play  with.  Wouldn't  it  be  nice 
if  there  were  two  of  you  and  two  of  me? 

DICK.  Two  of  us!  I  wish  there  were  six  of  each  of 
us.  I  wish  I  could  go  and  live  with  the  Ruggles's,  in 
your  story  about  the  "  Birds'  Christmas  Carol."  There 
were  nine  of  them  and  they  only  got  washed  about  once 
a  year.  And  folks  weren't  always  saying,  "  Land!  where 
did  you  get  them  dirty  hands?  " 

DOT.  That  would  be  fun!  We  could  play  just  as 
untidy  games 

DICK.  Don't  talk  about  it,  it  makes  me  cross.  [Folds 
his  arms,  crosses  his  feet,  and  whistles  something  sad. 
DOT  gets  out  her  handkerchief  and  spreads  it  in  her  lap] 

JIM  [softly].  I  say,  Polly,  that  boy's  got  an  awful 
nice  sled. 


THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY  79 

POLLY.     Just  look  at  his  sister's  muff.     [Enter  man.] 

JIM  [shouts].     Buy  a  paper,  sir!     [Man  takes  paper.] 
[DOT  turns  and  sees  children,  looks  away,  then 
back  again,  turns  to  DiCK. 

DOT.     Dicky,  are  you  sure  you  are  warm  enough? 

DICK.  Warm  enough!  How  could  I  be  cold  with  a 
great  big  coat  like  this  one?  I  feel  like  a  polar  bear. 
\Walks  up  and  down  to  show  size  of  his  coat,  then  sits 
down.  DOT  turns  and  sees  the  children's  ragged  shoes.] 

DOT.     But  are  your  feet  warm? 

DICK.     Of  course,  with  boots  on. 

DOT  [sees  POLLY  examining  holes  in  her  mittens]. 
But  aren't  there  any  holes  in  your  mittens? 

DICK.  In  my  spick-span  new  mittens  that  Aunt 
Jennie  made  me?  [Holds  them  up.]  Dot,  you're  crazy! 
[Catches  her  looking  at  the  children;  looks  himself,  and 
then  walks  around  the  sled  to  sit  facing  JIM  and  POLLY. 
DOT  does  the  same.  All  four  stare  in  silence.]  Hullo! 

JIM.     Hullo,  yourself! 

DICK.  Are  you  the  boy  that  my  papa  gets  his  papers 
of? 

JIM.     Don't  know. 

[DOT  walks  decidedly  over  to  POLLY. 

DOT.  Let  me  feel  your  hands.  They're  just  like  ice ; 
I  knew  it.  Put  them  right  in  here  with  mine.  [Kneels 
in  front  of  POLLY  and  puts  her  hands  in  muff.  DICK 
moves  sled  close  to  JIM  and  sits  astride  of  it.] 

DICK.     Have  you  sold  all  your  papers? 

JIM.     No,  I've  got  two  left. 

DICK.  Isn't  it  lots  of  fun  to  sell  papers  and  earn 
money? 

JIM.     I  don't  know, — not  this  kind  of  weather. 

DICK.     I  think  it  would  be  fun.     I  wouldn't  want  to 


8o  THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY 

sell  'em  on  Christmas.  Do  you  have  to  work  on  Christ- 
mas day? 

JIM.  Not  if  I  don't  want  to.  I  did  go  out  last 
Christmas,  but  nobody  much  came  along.  I  suppose  they 
stayed  at  home  to  keep  warm. 

DOT.  No,  I  guess  Santa  Claus  was  coming  to  see 
their  little  children,  and  they  wanted  to  see  him  too. 
[To  POLLY.]  What  do  you  want  Santa  Claus  to  bring 
you? 

POLLY.     Santa  Claus  hasn't  ever  been  to  our  house. 

DOT.     What,  hasn't  ever  been  to  your  house! 

DICK.     Haven't  you  ever  seen  him? 

JIM.  No,  she  never  saw  him,  but  I  saw  a  stuffed 
Santa  Claus  in  a  window  once. 

DICK.     Why,  he  comes  to  our  house  every  single  year. 

DOT.  I  thought  he  went  to  everybody's  houses  in  this 
world. 

JIM  [leaning  toward  DICK  and  speaking  low],  I  get 
Polly  presents  when  I  get  enough  money. 

DICK.     But  doesn't  Santa  Claus  fill  your  stockings? 

JIM.  No,  and  he  never  goes  to  Nicky  Smith's  house, 
nor  Eddy  Warren's,  nor  Jakey  White's.  They  told  me 
so.  Here  comes  another  man.  Post,  sir?  [Man  shakes 
his  head.~\ 

POLLY.  Jim  got  me  some  candy  last  Christmas,  and 
Granny  gave  me  a  doll,  only  its  head  came  off  the  next 
day. 

JIM.     That's  an  awful  nice  sled. 

DICK.     Haven't  you  got  any  sled  ? 

JIM.     No,  but  I  coast  on  a  board  sometimes. 

DICK.  I'll  let  you  try  Comet.  Don't  you  want  to 
take  Polly  down? 

DOT.     Oh,  yes,  go ;  we'll  take  care  of  the  papers. 


THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY  81 

DICK.  Let's  change  places;  we'll  sell  papers  and  you 
coast.  And  you  must  take  our  coats  too.  [Pulls  off  his 
things,  DOT  following  his  example.]  Because  the  wind 
just  whistles  right  through  you,  I  tell  you,  when  you 
go  down  that  hill. 

DOT.     Oh,  yes. 

JIM.  We're  much  obliged  for  the  sled,  but  we  can't 
take  your  things;  you'll  be  cold. 

DICK.  No,  we  won't,  and  you  must.  [Helps  him  on 
with  his  own  coat.]  You  see,  you're  cold  now,  and  you 
won't  have  a  good  coast  if  you're  not  warm.  Give  me 
your  cap.  Here,  take  my  mittens.  Dot,  take  Polly's 
shawl. 

DOT.  Now,  we'll  sit  right  down  here.  Dick,  you 
hold  the  papers. 

JIM.     Are  you  all  fixed? 

DICK  and  DOT.     Oh,  beautifully.    Oh,  thank  you. 

[JiM  and  POLLY  go  off. 

DICK  [calling].     Put  Polly  on  behind. 

DOT.     Mind  the  bump  at  the  curbstone. 

DICK.     Oh,  Dot,  isn't  this  fun? 

DOT.     Yes,  lots.     Have  you  got  the  papers? 

DICK.     Yes,  there  are  only  two  left  to  sell. 

DOT.  Let  me  get  close  up  behind  you,  the  way  Polly 
did.  Now  you  must  drum  with  your  heels,  and  whistle 
like  Jim.  [DiCK  does  so.] 

DICK.  Here  comes  somebody.  Now  I'm  going  to 
call.  Here's  your  evening  papers,  last  edition ! 

[Enter  two  men,  stop  and  buy  a  paper. 

FIRST  MAN  [looking  back].  That's  a  queer-looking 
newsboy.  Somehow  he  looks  like  a  rich  child. 

SECOND  MAN  [pulling  him  off].  I  can't  see  but  the 
little  scamp  is  ragged  enough.  Some  of  these  newsboys 


82  THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY 

aren't  so   poverty-stricken   as  they   make   out,    anyway. 
Come  along.     [Exeunt.] 

DICK.     I've  seen  that  man  somewhere. 

DOT.  I  think  he's  been  to  see  Papa.  Wouldn't  it  be 
fun  if  Papa  came  along  and  bought  a  paper  of  you? 

DICK.  And  didn't  know  me.  What  a  circus!  Wish 
he  would. 

DOT.  There  come  Jim  and  Polly.  Wave  your  paper 
at  them. 

DICK  [waving].     Hurrah,  Jim,  I  sold  a  paper. 

[Enter  JIM  and  POLLY. 

JIM.     Good  for  you.    It  was  fine! 

POLLY.     It  was  just  grand! 

DICK.     Try  it  again.    We  like  this,  don't  we,  Dot? 

DOT.     Yes.     Don't  you  want  to  go  again,  Polly? 

JIM.     Are  you  warm  enough?  honest  Injun? 

DOT.     Yes,  go  on. 

JIM.     All  right.     [Exeunt.] 

DICK.  I  knew  Jim  would  think  Comet  was  a  boss 
sled.  Don't  you  think  Jim  would  be  a  nice  brother, 
Dot? 

DOT.  Yes,  if  he  washed  his  face.  Polly  would  be 
nice  for  a  sister,  too. 

DICK.  We  could  all  write  letters  to  Santa  Claus 
together.  [Drums  with  heels  and  whistles.] 

DOT  [after  a  pause,  rubbing  her  nose].  Well,  if 
Santa  Claus's  nose  ever  feels  like  mine,  it's  no  wonder 
it's  red. 

DICK  [squirming].  Somehow,  it's  colder  than  I 
thought  it  was.  The  thermometer  must  be  down  to  zero. 

DOT.  I'm  sure  it's  nineteen  below.  I — I  think  a  fire 
would  feel  real  nice. 

DICK.     I'll  take  you  home  when  they  come  up  again. 


THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY  83 

I'm  not  very  cold.  I  wonder  if  Jim  ever  flops  his  arms 
like  a  street  car  driver.  Maybe  that  would  make  him 
warm.  Try  it,  Dot.  [Both  beat  themselves  with  their 
arms,] 

DOT.     I  don't  believe  anything  would  make  me  warm. 

DICK  [turning  anxiously].  Dot,  do  you  want  my 
handkerchief  ? 

DOT.     Oh,  no,  I'm  not  going  to  cry. 

DICK.  Well,  I'm  glad,  for  it's  in  my  pocket  that 
Jim's  got  on.  [Enter  man, 

MAN.     Got  a  Times,  boy? 

DICK.  Yes,  sir,  last  one.  [Exit  man.  Enter  JIM 
and  POLLY.]  Sold  the  last  paper,  Jim.  Here's  the 
money.  We've  got  to  go  home  now.  [Changing  coats] 
Jim,  I  think  it's  very  queer  about  Santa  Claus.  Is  your 
house  hard  to  find? 

JIM.  No,  it's  just  right  down  this  street,  there  on 
Friendship  Alley.  We're  awfully  much  obliged  for  the 
ride.  The  Comet's  a  beauty. 

POLLY.     I  never  was  on  a  sled  before. 

DOT.  Weren't  you?  We'll  let  you  have  ours  again, 
sometime. 

DICK  and  DOT.     Good-night.     [Exeunt.] 

JIM.     That's  an  awfully  nice  little  chap,  Polly. 

POLLY.     Why,  Jim,  he's  'most  as  big  as  you  are. 

JIM.  Oh,  well,  he's  little  somehow.  I  take  care  of 
you  and  that  makes  me  big.  Let's  go  home  to  Granny. 
[Takes  her  hand.  Exeunt,  singing  another  verse  of  their 
carol.] 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 

TIME:  Christmas  morning. 

SCENE:  Sitting-room,  with  large  old-fashioned  fire- 
place* [back  Center].  Toys  scattered  about.  A  small 
blackboard  to  left  of  fireplace.  DICK  and  DOT  sitting  in 
little  chairs.  DICK,  with  a  knife,  whittling.  DOT,  with 
a  doll.  Both  wear  sprigs  of  holly. 

DOT.  Everybody  has  given  us  such  lovely  presents.  It 
couldn't  be  nicer,  could  it,  Dick? 

DICK  [sighing],  I  think  it  could  be  just  a  little  nicer. 
It  would  be  nicer  if  we  had  a  lot  of  brothers  and  sisters  to 
help  us  play  with  the  soldiers  and  the  blocks  and  the  dolls 
and  everything.  Oh,  I  wish — I  wish  that  just  for  this  one 
day  I  could  have  a  whole  roomful  of  children  to  play  with. 

DOT.  I'm  afraid  Jim  and  Polly  aren't  having  as  nice 
a  Christmas  as  ours. 

DICK  [shutting  his  knife].  So  am  I.  I  don't  think 
Friendship  Alley's  a  very  nice  place  to  have  to  live. 

Dor.  I  wish  they  could  have  a  Christmas  like  ours. 
I'd  like  to  give  them  some  things.  Anyway,  I'd  like  to 
show  them  our  presents. 

DICK  [jumping  up~\.     Let's! 

DOT.     When? 

DICK.  Now,  right  off.  And,  Dot,  don't  you  know 
they  said  they  had  never  seen  Santa  Claus,  either.  It's 
'most  time  for  him  to  come.  Let's  go  and  bring  them 
over  to  see  him. 

DOT.     All  right.     He'll  give  them  something,  too. 

*  See  note  on  Fireplace,  p.  313. 
84 


THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY  85 

DICK.     We'll  hide  them  so  as  to  surprise  everybody. 

DOT.     Will  Papa  and  Mamma  like  it? 

DICK.  Of  course  they  will.  Papa  always  likes  our 
surprises,  and  Mamma  will,  I  know,  because  it  would 
make  her  feel  so  sorry  if  she  knew  there  was  anybody 
in  the  world  that  wasn't  happy  on  Christmas.  She  says 
that's  the  happiest  day  in  the  year,  and  everybody  ought 
to  be  happy.  So  we  won't  make  her  sorry  by  telling  her 
about  it.  We'll  just  make  them  happy  too. 

DOT.  We  can  have  them  take  off  their  things  in  the 
nursery,  and  then  Jim  can  wash  his  face. 

[Exeunt.     Enter  FATHER,  with  paper  which 
he  throws  on  table. 

FATHER.  Well,  the  children  seem  to  have  grown  tired 
of  their  new  things  already.  I  don't  see  what  has  come 
over  that  boy  lately.  He  talks  of  nothing  but  big  fami- 
lies. I  suppose  the  sight  of  the  five  little  Blair  children 
across  the  way  is  tantalizing,  and  it  certainly  is  lonely 
for  the  two  little  duds  with  nobody  but  grown-ups  in  the 
house.  Their  efforts  to  be  a  large  party  in  themselves, 
to  play  games,  on  Thanksgiving  day,  were  really  laugh- 
able, but  they  were  pathetic,  too.  If  Julia  had  thought 
of  it,  we  might  have  had  a  little  Christmas  party  for 
them.  It's  a  good  deal  of  trouble  for  Santa  Claus  to 
climb  down  a  chimney  for  just  two  children.  [Looks  at 
his  watch.]  The  old  gentleman  ought  to  be  here  in 
about  half  an  hour.  I  wonder  if  it's  too  late  to  get 
some  children  now?  Mr.  Blair  might  lend  me  his  young- 
sters for  an  hour  or  so.  It  would  be  such  a  nice  surprise 
for  the  children.  I  could  hide  them  somewhere,  and  at 
a  given  signal  have  them  come  out.  I'll  just  step  across 
the  way  and  see. 

[Exit  FATHER.    Enter  AUNT  JENNY. 


86  THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY 

AUNT.  What  a  dreadful  state  the  children  have  left 
this  room  in.  That  blessed  boy!  I  knew  he  couldn't 
wait  to  try  his  new  knife.  His  father  would  insist  on 
giving  it  to  him,  though  I'm  sure  it's  dangerous.  Here 
are  his  chips  all  over  the  floor,  and  Dot  has  had  Dolly 
dressed  and  undressed  a  dozen  times  at  least.  [Sits  down 
by  fire,  laughing  indulgently.]  The  way  those  children 
have  been  talking  the  last  few  days  is  a  puzzle!  I  can't 
think  what  started  them.  I  never  had  but  one  brother 
myself,  and  I'm  sure  I  was  quite  happy.  What  they 
want  with  ten  brothers  and  sisters  is  beyond  me.  A 
dozen  children  in  the  house  would  be  more  than  their 
father  and  Julia  and  I  could  stand,  to  say  nothing  of 
nurse  and  John.  The  two  alone  can  think  of  quite 
enough  mischief  to  drive  the  household  crazy.  I  suppose 
our  having  so  many  friends  when  we  were  children  made 
a  difference.  We  never  used  to  be  alone  at  Christmas. 
After  all,  on  holidays  it  would  be  forlorn.  Too  bad 
we  didn't  think  of  having  a  party.  There  are  so  many 
children  who  would  think  it  a  treat  to  come,  too,  who 
have  no  tree  or  Santa  Claus  at  home.  That  little  girl 
of  Ellen  Lee's  must  be  all  alone  to-day.  [Gets  up  de- 
cidedly.] I  declare  I'll  just  put  on  my  hat  and  coat  and 
go  around  there  now  and  get  her.  It'll  be  such  a  nice 
surprise  for  the  children. 

[Exit  in  haste.  Enter  MOTHER.  Takes  up 
doll,  and  sits  down  thoughtfully  before  the 
fire,  rearranging  doll's  dress. 

MOTHER.  Dolly,  you'd  be  surprised  if  you  knew  how 
badly  I'm  feeling!  I  think  I've  been  a  very  stupid,  un- 
realizing  sort  of  a  mother,  not  to  plan  something  to  make 
the  children  have  a  really  merry  Christmas,  as  well  as 
a  happy  one.  It  would  have  been  so  easy  to  have  a  little 


THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY  87 

party  of  children  here.  Oh,  Dolly,  you  know  all  about 
it  better  than  I  do  myself,  for  didn't  I  just  hear  Dot 
confiding  in  you,  and  whispering  in  this  little  ear  under 
your  curls  how  she  wished  you  were  a  real  live  sister 
to  play  with  her?  Now  you  see  how  I  feel!  Don't 
you  see  that  if  she  had  a  hundred  dolls,  of  wax  or  china 
or  rags,  she  would  still  have  a  stupid  Christmas?  I 
haven't  a  doubt  that  you  mean  well,  and  you  do  fill  a 
very  large  corner  in  a  little  girl's  heart — I  haven't  got 
over  my  fondness  for  your  race  yet.  [Kisses  the  doll's 
curls.]  But  you  certainly  are  a  trifle  obstinate  about 
responding  to  friendly  advances.  Poor  children,  it's  so 
easy  to  give  you  pleasure!  [Lets  doll  fall  in  her  lap.] 
I  might  have  had  a  nice,  jolly,  little  .  .  .  well,  it's  too 
late  now.  [Sighs,  then  looks  at  her  watch.]  No!  I 
don't  believe  it  is,  after  all.  I  still  have  time  to  go  for 
little  Jerry  Gray  and  his  sister.  They  are  just  the  ones! 

The  children  love  surprises  so.     I'll  hurry 

[Exit  in  haste.  Enter  MARY  and  JOHN. 
While  they  talk  together  they  put  the  room 
to  rights. 

MARY.  Well,  it  do  beat  all,  how  thim  children  can 
make  a  room  look  like  so  many  pigs  and  chickens  had 
been  running  through. 

JOHN.     Thrue  for  you,  an'  it  does. 

MARY.  An'  what  fer  need  they  be  wishin'  there  was 
tin  of  thim  to  mess  the  house  up  worse? 

JOHN.    An'  did  they  do  that,  thin? 

MARY.  Sure  they  did.  "  Mary,"  says  Dicky  to  me, 
"  don't  you  wish  that  I  was  five  little  b'ys  and  Dot  was 
five  little  girls?  We  do,  we're  so  lonesome." 

JOHN.  An'  that's  what  I  heard  them  sayin'  as  I  was 
a-carryin'  up  coal  this  morning.  "  I  wish  I  had  a  whole 


88  THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY 

room  full  of  brothers  and  sisters,"  says  Dick.  Faix!  I 
wish  I  could  give  him  some  of  mine,  then.  I've  enough 
to  spare. 

MARY.  'Tis  sort  of  lonesome  like,  now,  ain't  it, 
John?  [Hands  on  hips,] 

JOHN  [hands  on  hips}.     Yes,  it  is  that.    I  wonder 

Say,  Mary,  me  darlin',  them  three  children  of  cook's 
sister's  ain't  going  to  have  much  Christmas.  Why  can't 
you  and  me  smuggle  them  up  here  to  the  cupboard  on 
the  stairs,  and  when  we  comes  up  to  help  wid  th'  tree, 
we'll  just  give  the  word  and  they'll  pop  out  and  say, 
Merry  Christmas.  It'll  be  sort  o'  cheerful  like,  and 
Mistress  is  that  kind-hearted  she  ain't  going  to  care. 

MARY.  John,  you  have  the  brains  of  a  elephant.  I'll 
go  right  down  and  fetch  'em  now.  [Exit.] 

JOHN.  Poor  children!  They  shall  have  some  fun, 
that  they  shall.  [Re-enter  MARY  with  children. 

MARY.  Well,  would  you  look  at  'em,  John?  Cook 
she  dressed  'em  all  up  in  green  ribbons,  bless  their  hearts. 
Says  I,  "  Sure  to-day's  not  St.  Patrick's  day."  "  Well," 
says  she,  "  what's  fittin'  one  holiday  is  fittin'  the  next. 
It's  a  good  color  anyhow.  Them's  their  best  clothes." 
So  I  never  touched  'em.  I've  told  'em  about  it,  John. 
Now,  just  go  right  up  in  here,  children. 

JOHN.  And  when  we  say  "Broomsticks!"  out  you 
bounces  and  shouts,  "  Merry  Christmas!  "  Now,  Mary, 
we've  redd  up,  we'll  just  go  below  stairs.  [Exeunt.] 

[Enter  DICK  and  DOT  with  JIM  and  POLLY. 

DOT.  We're  so  glad  you  came,  because  we  want  to 
show  you  our  things. 

DICK.     And  now  you  can  see  Santa  Claus. 

JIM  and  POLLY.  Oh-h-hh!  We  never  saw  nothin' 
like  this  before. 


THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY  89 

DICK.  And  I'm  going  to  put  my  new  necktie  on  you, 
because  we  want  to  be  all  dressed  up  for  Santa  Claus. 

DOT  and  DICK.  We've  got  on  holly  because  it's 
Christmas. 

POLLY.     I've  got  on  my  clean  apron.    Will  I  do? 

DOT.  'Course  you  will;  I  don't  believe  Santa  Claus 
cares. 

DICK.     Here  are  my  soldiers. 

DOT.     And  this  is  my  dolly. 

DICK.     And  just  look  at  my  knife. 

DOT.     Where's  my  pincushion  ? 

DICK.  Oh,  see  our  blackboard.  Don't  you  want  to 
draw  on  it,  Jim? 

JIM.     I  don't  know  how  to  draw. 

DICK.  Oh,  make  a  man ;  it's  very  easy  to  make  a  man. 
^Demonstrating.'}  You  just  make  his  stomach  and  his 
head,  and  then  put  on  the  arms  and  legs. 

DOT.     See  our  books. 

DICK.  This  is  my  new  history.  It's  got  a  picture  of 
Mr.  Columbus  finding  the  red  Indians. 

DOT.  Oh,  I  hear  somebody  coming.  You  must  hide 
straight  off. 

DICK.  In  the  chimney  is  the  best  place.  Jim,  you 
go  on  this  side  and  Polly  on  that.  And  look  out  for  the 
fire.  Remember  when  we  say  "  Sleds!  "  you  must  come 
out. 

DOT.     Now. 

[FATHER  puts  his  head  in  at  the  door. 

FATHER.  Oh,  children,  are  you  there?  Don't  you 
think  you'd  better  go  and  have  your  hands  and  faces 
washed?  Santa  Claus  likes  clean  faces,  you  know. 

DICK  and  DOT.     Yes,  sir,  right  off.     [Exeunt.] 

[Enter  FATHER  with  five  little  Blairs. 


90  THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY 

FATHER.  Now,  children,  quick,  run  right  into  the 
library  here,  and  when  I  say  "Holly!"  you  must  run 
out  and  say,  "  Merry  Christmas!  " 

[Exit   FATHER.    Enter  AUNT   with   SALLY 

LEE. 

AUNT.  Sally,  the  best  place  for  you  to  hide  is  here 
on  the  floor  behind  the  blackboard.  There,  no  one  can 
see  you.  Now,  when  I  say  "  Evergreen !  "  you  must 
come  out  as  we  planned. 

[Exit  AUNT.    Enter  MOTHER  with  two  little 

Grays. 

MOTHER.  Come  right  here,  dears,  behind  this  cur- 
tain. You  won't  have  to  wait  long.  And  when  I  say 
"  Mistletoe!  "  run  out.  I'll  go  and  find  Dick  and  Dot. 

[Exit. 

[Enter  DICK   and   DOT  and  place   two   low 
chairs    by    the   fireplace.      Both    put    their 
heads  into  the  chimney. 
DICK  and  DOT.     Are  you  all  right? 
JIM.     Yes,  if  we  don't  have  to  stay  too  long. 
POLLY.     It's  very  nice  and  warm  here. 

[Enter  FATHER,  MOTHER,  AUNT,  and  MARY 

and  JOHN,  who  stand  by  the  door. 
FATHER.     Children,  what  are  you  doing?     [Children 
come  out  confused.] 

MOTHER.     Were  you  looking  for  Santa  Claus? 
AUNT.     Couldn't  you  wait  for  him? 
DICK.     It's  a  whole  year  since  we've  seen  him. 
FATHER.     I  wonder  if  he's  changed  any. 
DOT.     Oh,  I  hope  not. 

FATHER.  We  all  love  Santa  Claus,  don't  we?  He 
makes  us  think  of  so  many  pleasant  things.  He  always 
reminds  me  of 


THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY  91 

All   children  [rushing   out} : 


FATHER.     Holly! 
MOTHER.     Mistletoe! 
AUNT.     Evergreen ! 


DICK 


Sleds! 


"  Merry  Christmas,  Merry 
Christmas,    Merry    Christ- 


DOT 

\  mas! 

JOHN    )  _  .  , 

,.         V  Broomsticks! 
MARY  j 

DICK  and  DOT.  Hurrah,  hurrah!  We're  going  to 
have  a  Christmas  party,  after  all! 

FATHER.  I  never  was  so  surprised  in  all  my 
life. 

MOTHER.     Nor  the  rest  of  us,  either. 

CHILDREN.     Goody,  goody!     Santa  Claus  is  coming! 

FATHER.  Three  cheers  for  Santa  Claus.  All  to- 
gether ! 

ALL.     Rah!     Rah!     Rah! 

MOTHER.  Santa  Claus  likes  to  have  children  quiet 
sometimes.  It's  almost  time  for  him  to  come  now.  I 
know  he  loves  music.  Suppose  we  all  sit  down  right 
where  we  are  and  sing.  What  shall  we  sing? 

DOT.     Let's  sing 

[All  sing  a  Christmas  carol. 

FATHER.     Listen,  do  you  hear  anything?     [Silence.] 

CHILDREN.     No,  no! 

FATHER.  Well,  let's  sing  something  about  Santa 
Claus,  and  see  if  that  will  bring  him.  [They  sing  a  Santa 
Claus  song.] 

[Enter  SANTA  CLAUS  through  fireplace.  Chil- 
dren all  jump  up  and  gather  around 
him. 

SANTA  CLAUS.  Whew!  What  a  large  party!  Do 
you  think  my  pack  will  hold  out  for  so  many? 

CHILDREN  [dancing  excitedly].     Yes!    Yes! 


92  THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY 

DICK  Santa  Claus,  before  you  begin,  I  want  to  ask 
you  a  question.  Here  are  Jim  and  Polly,  and  they  have 
always  wanted  to  see  you,  but  you  never  went  to  their 
house,  nor  gave  them  any  presents,  and  they  say  they 
know  some  more  poor  people  that  you  never  go  to  see. 
We  thought  you  went  everywhere  and  gave  everybody 
presents!  Why  didn't  you  ever  give  anything  to  Jim 
and  Polly?  We  don't  think  that's  quite  fair,  Santa 
Claus! 

SANTA  CLAUS.  I  know,  and  I  think  I  can  explain  to 
you.  [Recites.'] 

'Tis  true,  my  child,  I  can't  but  say 
I  have  a  very  curious  way 
Of  bringing  presents  to  girls  and  boys 
Who  have  least  need  of  pretty  toys, 
And  giving  books,  and  dolls,  and  rings, 
To  those  who  already  have  such  things. 
'Tis  done  for  a  very  curious  reason, 
Suggested  by  the  Christmas  season. 
Should  I  make  my  gifts  to  those  who  need, 
'Twould  become  a  time  of  general  greed, 
When  all  would  think,  "What  shall  we  get?" 
"What  shall  we  give?"  they  would  quite  forget. 
So  when  I  send  my  gifts  to-day, 
'Tis  a  hint  "  You  have  plenty  to  give  away." 
And  then  I  leave  some  poor  ones  out, 
That  the  richer  may  find,  as  they  look  about, 
Their  opportunities  close  at  hand, 
In  every  corner  of  the  land. 
My  token  to  those  who  in  plenty  live 
Is  a  gentle  reminder,  meaning, 
GIVE.* 


*  Quoted  from  St.  Nicholas,  by  courtesy  of  Tudor  Jenks  and 
The  Century  Company. 


THEIR  CHRISTMAS  PARTY  93 

CHILDREN.  Oh,  yes,  we  see,  and  we'll  try  to  re- 
member. 

SANTA  CLAUS.  That's  right.  Now,  can't  we  have 
another  song?  I  like  to  hear  you  singing.  Let's 
have  .  .  .  [Carol,  and  distribution  of  presents* 

*  See  note  on  Tree,  p.  314,  and  on  Carols,  p.  315. 


NOTES  ON  COSTUME  AND  SCENERY 

Ordinary  costumes.  Santa  Claus  (see  note  on  costume, 
p.  313)  should  be  taken  by  a  man,  but  the  other  adult 
parts  are  for  boys  and  girls  from  fourteen  to  eighteen. 
Two  or  three  older  boys  enact  the  homeward-bound 
pedestrians  who  merely  cross  the  stage  in  Act  I,  and 
Father  Browne  and  John,  in  coats  and  hats,  may  be 
among  these. 

The  groups  of  children  who  come  in  at  the  end  range 
from  the  very  smallest  up  to  ten  years. 

If  scenery  is  available,  place  grocery  store  in  first  scene, 
at  the  back,  and  keep  the  children  well  in  the  center.  In 
changing  the  scene,  time  can  be  gained  by  setting  the  first 
scene  in  front  of  the  interior,  as  very  little  space  is  needed 
for  the  first  act. 

If  scenery  is  not  to  be  used,  set  grocery  store  less  con- 
spicuously [Right],  using  screens  and  placing  boxes  and 
barrels  before  them. 


94 


THE  CHRISTMAS   BROWNIE 

IN  ONE  ACT 


CHARACTERS 


FATHER  BIRD. 

MOTHER  BIRD. 

KITTY  "1 

TED 

MARJORIE       \-  The  little  Birds 

ROBIN 

LITTLE  ROSE 


About  twelve  years  old. 
Boy  of  ten. 
Eight  years  old. 
Boy  of  seven. 
Little  girl  of  six. 


NURSE  MAGGIE. 

THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE.     (Boy  of  ten.) 

And  SANTA  CLAUS. 

CHARACTERS  IN  TED'S  DREAM 
(Series  of  tableaux  at  back  of  stage) 

I.  Jack  Horner. 

II.  Mrs.  Santa  Claus. 

III.  When  Santa  was  Young. 

IV.  "  Merry  Christmas."      (Little  boy.) 

V.     "  No  Christmas."     (Little  boy  and  girl.) 
VI.     The  Christmas  Waits.     (Four  boys  and  four  girls 

from  six  to  twelve  years,  who  can  sing.) 
The  other  children  in  the  "  Dream  "  should  not  be 
over  eight  years  old. 


THE  BROWNIE 


THE   CHRISTMAS    BROWNIE 

TIME:  Christmas  Eve.  The  story  begins  at  tea-time 
in  the  nursery,  and  ends  on  Christmas  morning,  the  night 
being  bridged  over  by  TED'S  dream. 

SCENE:  Nursery,  with  fireplace*  across  corner 
[Right],  nursery  pictures  on  the  walls,  and  toys  scattered 
about.  The  children  seated  on  little  chairs  around  a  low 
table  [L.~\,  having  just  finished  their  tea — TED  at  one  end, 
KITTY  opposite  him,  MARJORIE  and  ROSE  on  one  side 
[facing  the  audience],  and  ROBIN  with  his  chair  half 
turned  away  from  the  table.  Curtain  rises,  showing  the 
children  singing  a  Christmas  song,  while  the  nurse  goes 
in  and  out  with  a  tray,  clearing  the  table.  The  little  girls 
sit  with  hands  folded,  KITTY  sometimes  helping  the 
nurse,  and  the  boys  lounge  comfortably  in  their  chairs. 
When  the  song  is  ended,  TED  leans  his  elbows  on  the 
table. 

Any  Christmas  song  will  do.  "  Oh,  Ring,  Glad  Bells  " 
(from  Songs  and  Games  for  Little  Ones  f)  is  a  very  good 
one. 

KITTY.  Oh,  I  do  wish  Papa  and  Mamma  would  get 
done  their  supper  and  come  up  here! 

MARJORIE.  Seems  to  me  it  takes  twice  as  long  to  eat 
supper  in  the  dining-room  as  it  does  up  here  in  the 
nursery ! 

*  See  note  on  Fireplace,  p.  313.         f  See  note  on  Carols,  p.  315. 

97 


98  THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE 

TED.     Grown  folks  are  so  slow  about  it! 

ROBIN.     Guess  they  have  more  to  eat,  too. 

NURSE.  No,  indeed,  Master  Robin,  it's  because 
they're  polite  and  don't  eat  so  fast ! 

MARJORIE.  We  do  gobble  just  like  Thanksgiving 
turkeys ! 

KITTY.     Rosy-posy  never  does.     [Patting  little  ROSE.] 

TED.  Pooh!  Rosebud  doesn't  eat  more'n  a  bite,  any- 
way! 

ROSE.     Maggie,  please  untie  my  bib. 

TED.  I'll  do  it  for  you.  [Jumps  up  and  unties  it. 
The  others  take  theirs  off,  and  the  nurse  carries  them 
all  away.] 

KITTY.  Oh,  I'm  so  excited!  I  don't  believe  I  can 
sleep  a  wink. 

MARJORIE.  Don't  you  wish  to-morrow  would  come 
quick? 

BOYS.    You  bet! 

MARJORIE.     Santa  Claus! 

KITTY.     Christmas  Tree! 

ROBIN.     Sleds! 

TED.     Candy ! 

ROBIN.     Big  drums! 

BOYS  [drumming  with  fists  on  table].  B-r-r-rum! 
B-r-rum!  Brum!  Brum!  Brum! 

KITTY  [covering  her  ears].  Mercy!  what  a  racket! 
Do  be  quiet,  boys! 

ROSE  [shaking  her  finger].  Santa  Claus'll  hear  you 
'way  up  at  the  North  Pole! 

TED.  I  hope  he's  started  on  his  travels  before  this,  or 
he  won't  get  here  for  a  week. 

ROBIN.  Wouldn't  you  like  to  ride  with  him  in  his 
old  sleigh,  though  ? 


THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE  99 

TED.     And  help  him  fill  the  stockings! 

MARJORIE.  I  don't  think  I'd  like  going  down  chim- 
neys much. 

KITTY.  What  a  good  chimney-sweep  Santa  Claus 
must  make. 

ROBIN  [going  to  look  up  chimney}.  Oh,  isn't  it  'most 
time  to  hang  up  the  stockings?  [Comes  to  stand  beside 
MARJORIE.] 

KITTY.     Maggie  has  gone  to  get  them,  I  think. 

ROSE.  But,  Sister,  how  will  Santa  Claus  know  which 
is  which? 

KITTY.     He'll  know  yours  the  minute  he  sees  it,  Pet. 

ROSE.    Will  he? 

TED.     Sure! 

ROBIN.  Oh,  I  say,  Ted,  wouldn't  it  be  a  joke  if  he 
got  'em  all  mixed  up,  and  put  my  things  in  Marjorie's 
stocking,  and  yours  in  Kitty's! 

KITTY.  He  won't.  He's  such  a  wise  old  fellow  that 
he  always  knows,  somehow. 

MARJORIE.  Well,  I  should  think  it  would  be  lots 
easier  if  we  marked  them!  It  must  be  dreadfully  hard 
for  him  to  remember. 

TED.  I'll  tell  you  what!  S'posing  we  write  a  list  of 
the  things  we  want  him  to  bring,  too? 

ROBIN.  Good  for  you,  Ted.  Then  he  won't 
have  to  remember  all  the  letters  we've  been  writing 
him. 

MARJORIE.     Give  us  some  paper,  quick,  Kitty! 

KITTY  [gets  paper  and  pencils  from  mantel,  TED  help- 
ing her}.  If  Santa  Claus  has  to  remember  all  the  letters 
all  the  children  in  the  world  write  him  every  year, 
shouldn't  you  think  his  head  must  ache?  [Divides  paper 
among  children.  All  sit  at  table  and  write.'] 


ioo  THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE 

TED.     Put  your  name  at  the  top. 

MARJORIE.     And  the  thing  you  want  most,  next. 

ROSE  [to  KITTY].  Will  Santa  Claus  mind  if  I  print 
mine? 

KITTY.     No,  indeed.    He  likes  printing. 

[All  write  busily  for  a  few  moments. 

ROBIN.     I'm  done.    Look  at  that!     [Holds  it  up.] 

KITTY.     My!  what  a  long  list! 

ROSE.     Oh-h-h !    Santa  Claus'll  think  you're  greedy ! 

ROBIN.  I  don't  expect  him  to  give  me  all  those  things. 
That's  just  so  he  can  choose. 

KITTY.  Here  come  Papa  and  Mamma.  Now,  Ted, 
go  get  the  stockings. 

[Exit   TED.    Enter   FATHER   and   MOTHER: 
children  crowding  around  them. 

KITTY.     Mamma,  we've  made  lists 

ROBIN.     Of  the  things  we  want 

KITTY.     And  we're  going  to  pin  them  on  our  stock- 

MARJORIE.  Because  we  thought  we  ought  to  save 
poor  Santa  Claus  all  the  trouble  we  could. 

MOTHER.  What  thoughtful  children!  I'm  sure 
Santa  Claus  will  appreciate  it. 

ROBIN.     Now,  sit  down  and  write  your  lists,  quick! 

FATHER  [laughing],  Santa  Claus  will  be  frightened 
by  such  an  array  of  wants.  [FATHER  and  MOTHER  sit 
down  and  write] 

FATHER.     Do  you  think  his  pack  will  hold  out? 

ROBIN  [with  scorn].  'Course  it  will!  That  pack 
hasn't  any  bottom  at  all. 

MARJORIE  and  ROSE  [taking  hands  and  dancing]. 
Oh,  goody!  goody!  goody! 

[Enter  TED,  with  MAGGIE,  who  gives  stock- 


THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE  101 

ings  to  the  children  and  helps  them  to  pin 
on  the  lists. 

FATHER.  I  don't  see  my  sock  anywhere.  This  surely 
isn't  mine!  [Holds  up  a  long  stocking.] 

MARJORIE.  Oh,  Papa,  it  would  be  too  mean  to  hang 
up  one  of  your  horrid  little  ones! 

ROBIN.     No,  sir! 

TED.  Socks  are  no  good  on  Christmas  Eve.  We've 
got  one  of  Mamma's  for  you. 

FATHER  [laughing].  Oh,  I  see.  Very  well.  But  it's 
lucky  they're  to  be  marked.  Santa  Claus  would  never 
in  the  world  recognize  this  one. 

MOTHER  [to  ROBIN,  who  is  stretching  his  stock- 
ing as  much  as  possible].  Robin,  what  are  you  do- 
ing? 

ROBIN.  Just  making  it  bigger.  Now,  come  along. 
Papa's  on  the  first  hook.  [All  go  to  fireplace  and  hang 
stockings,  NURSE  helping  ROSE.  All  stand  back  to 
gaze.] 

KITTY.     Don't  they  make  a  fine  show? 

BOYS.     Hurrah!     Hurrah!     [Children  all  clap.] 

MOTHER.  Softly,  children!  [To  NURSE.]  Maggie, 
they  will  never  go  to  sleep  if  they  are  so  excited!  [To 
children.]  Sit  down  here  a  little  while  and  sing  some  of 
your  Christmas  songs  before  you  go  to  bed. 

KITTY.  Oh,  no,  Mamma,  let  Rosebud  sing  her  song 
for  us,  and  we'll  be  quiet. 

MOTHER.     Very  well,  dear. 

TED.  Let  her  stand  on  the  table,  so  everybody  can 
hear.  Come,  Rosy !  [TED  and  KITTY  help  her  up.  FA- 
THER stands  by  fire,  MARJORIE  with  her  arm  about 
MOTHER,  NURSE  in  door,  KITTY  sits  on  a  corner  of  the 
table,  ROBIN  in  a  chair,  TED  leaning  over  the  back  of  it. 


102          THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE 

ROSE  sings,  "  In  another  land  and  time."  (From  "  Songs 
for  Little  Children/')  *  When  the  song  is  ended, 
MOTHER  comes  forward,  kisses  ROSE,  and  lifts  her 
down.] 

MOTHER.  Now,  Maggie,  take  her  to  bed.  [NURSE 
leads  her  out.~\ 

FATHER.  Yes,  it's  high  time  you  all  went.  Good- 
night, all  of  you ! 

CHILDREN.    Good-night,  Papa!    Good-night,  Mamma! 

ROBIN  [runs  to  fireplace,  and  bends  over,  shouting]. 
Good-night,  Santa  Claus! 

FATHER.  Now,  scamper,  every  one  of  you!  [Chases 
them  out,  MOTHER  follows.  Stage  darkened  somewhat. 
Enter  the  BROWNIE  suddenly,  through  fireplace.  Stands 
(Center)  for  a  moment,  finger  on  lips,  then  rushes  to 
door,  peeps  out,  comes  back,  looks  under  table,  and  then, 
as  if  satisfied,  goes  to  stockings,  and  stands  examining 
them,  feet  wide  apart,  and  hands  on  hips.  Comes  to 
FATHER'S,  measures  it  with  his  hands,  then  lifts  it  by 
the  toe,  and  points  to  it,  grinning.  Doubles  up  with 
laughter.  Suddenly  puts  his  hand  to  his  ear,  and  bends 
over,  listening.  Rushes  to  door,  runs  back,  and  vanishes 
in  chimney.  Enter  TED.] 

TED  [softly].  I  just  can't  go  to  bed  yet.  Robin  went 
to  sleep  the  very  minute  he  got  into  bed.  Don't  see  how 
he  could.  Maggie  thinks  I'm  all  nicely  tucked  in,  and 
she's  gone  downstairs.  [Goes  to  fireplace  and  looks  up 
chimney.]  I  do  wish  I  could  catch  Santa  Claus.  No 
signs  of  him  yet,  and  I  don't  hear  the  sleigh-bells.  I 
think  I'll  just  sit  down  and  wait.  [Crosses  to  his  own 
chair,  and  sits  facing  audience,  with  one  elbow  on  table.] 
I  believe  I  could  give  Santa  Claus  a  few  pointers,  any- 

*See  p.  315. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE  103 

way.  [BROWNIE  puts  his  head  out  of  fireplace,  and  then 
shows  himself  entirely,  gradually  creeping  nearer  and 
nearer  TED,  as  if  irresistibly  drawn  by  his  remarks.]  He 
does  give  people  pretty  much  what  they  ask  for,  but 
[slowly]  if  he  just  stopped  a  minute  to  think  about  it, 
he'd  find  out  what  silly  things  they  do  think  they  want, 
sometimes.  But  [sighs']  he's  getting  so  old  that  he  doesn't 
find  it  out  at  all.  [ BROWNIE,  behind  him,  raises  his  hands 
in  horror,  then  shakes  his  fist  at  TED.]  I  really  think  it 
would  be  a  good  thing  for  Santa  Glaus  to  choose  one  per- 
son in  each  family  to  help  him  out, — with  the  planning, 
anyway,  if  he  doesn't  like  to  have  anyone  else  fill  the 
stockings.  S 'posing  he  chose  me!  I  could  help  him  a 
lot!  [BROWNIE  springs  excitedly  on  the  table,  and  bends 
over  TED,  shaking  his  fist  in  his  face.] 

TED  [jumps  up,  and  stands  off  a  little  way].  Wow! 
Wha — wha Who  are  you? 

BROWNIE  [folds  his  arms  and  looks  contemptuously 
down  on  TED].  Who  is  this  impertinent  snip  of  a  boy 
who  dares  to  insinuate  that  my  master,  Santa  Claus,  is 
too  old  and  decrepit  to  do  his  work  any  longer? 

TED.     Indeed,  indeed,  I  didn't  say  that! 

BROWNIE  [wrathfully].  What  did  you  say,  then?  It 
sounded  very  much  like  it.  [Shakes  his  head  fiercely.] 

TED.  I — I — I  just  said — that  I  think  he  makes  mis- 
takes sometimes. 

BROWNIE  [sitting  down  cross-legged  on  the  table]. 
Very  well,  we'll  just  have  this  matter  settled  at  once. 
Sit  down,  now,  and  let  me  hear  what  you  have  to  say. 
[TED  backs  away  from  his  chair.]  No,  that  won't  do. 
Sit  down,  I  tell  you.  [TED  reluctantly  obeys,  pulling  his 
chair  to  a  safe  distance,  and  sitting  astride  of  it.]  Now 
then,  young  sir,  will  you  tell  me  what  complaints  you 


104  THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE 

have  to  register  against  your  last  year's  stocking?  Wasn't 
everything  in  it  that  you  asked  for? 

TED    [anxious  to  appease].     Oh,  yes!  and  more,  too! 

BROWNIE.  And  wasn't  everything  in  it  in  perfect 
order?  Was  anything  broken? 

TED  [emphatically].  No!  Everything  was  just  out 
of  sight ! 

BROWNIE.  And  weren't  all  the  cracks  stuffed  tight 
with  candy  and  nuts  and  raisins? 

TED.     I  should  say  they  were! 

BROWNIE.  Then  I'd  like  to  know  the  meaning  of  this 
discontent!  You  twentieth-century  boys  are  a  set  of  un- 
grateful young  scamps,  who  get  the  best  of  everything, 
and  then  complain  of  it,  and  break  it  up  in  three  days' 
time.  Santa  Claus  is  spoiling  you,  7  say!  Boys  a  hun- 
dred years  ago  were  thankful  for  the  slates  and  school- 
books  we  gave  them,  and  the  girls  were  happy  enough 
over  corncob  dolls.  Now  you  must  have  steam-engines, 
and  motors,  and  automobiles,  and  dolls  that  walk  and 
talk,  and  are  so  full  of  cogs  and  wheels  that  no  real 
flesh-and-blood  little  girl  could  love  them  at  all.  I  tell 
you,  in  all  my  thousand  years  of  existence,  I  have  never 
met  anything  so  grasping  as  the  modern  children!  [Talks 
so  loud  and  Gesticulates  so  wildly  that  TED  backs  away 
again. ~\ 

TED  [meekly'].  Please,  Mr. — Mr.  Brownie,  I  didn't 
mean  that!  Honest  Injun,  I  didn't! 

BROWNIE.     Well,  then,  explain  yourself! 

TED.  I — I — I  was  just  thinking  that  people  ask 
Santa  Claus  for  such  f-foolish  things  that  it's  a  wonder 
he  gives  them  anything  at  all. 

BROWNIE.     Foolish!     I  should  think  they  were! 

TED.     And    if    there    was  anybody    that    could    tell 


THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE  105 

Santa  Glaus  about  it,  it  would  save  him  a  lot  of 
trouble. 

BROWNIE.  And  you  think  you  could  manage  things 
better,  do  you? 

TED.     I  didn't  say  that, — I  said  I  would  like  to  help. 

BROWNIE  [scratches  his  nose,  scowling  very  hard]. 
See  here.  Suppose  I  let  you  try.  Santa  Claus  is  unusu- 
ally busy  to-night,  and  is  sending  a  great  number  of  his 
Brownies  out  to  fill  stockings.  I  was  to  look  out  for  this 
house,  among  several  hundred  others,  and  I — a — well,  I 
have  a  fancy  that  I  should  enjoy  letting  you  help. 

TED.     Oh,  will  you,  really  ? 

BROWNIE  [jumping  off  table}.  Yes,  I  have  about 
made  up  my  mind  to  let  you  into  the  secrets  of  the  busi- 
ness. You  can  learn  a  few  things,  I  think. 

TED.     Good  for  you !    Thank  you,  ever  so  much. 

BROWNIE.  Never  mind.  Wait  till  to-morrow  before 
you  thank  me.  [Grins  meaningly.]  Now,  let's  be  quick 
about  this — the  time  is  getting  short.  We'll  just  go 
over  these  lists  together,  and  you  can  tell  me  what  im- 
provements to  make.  [They  go  to  the  first  stocking.] 

TED.  Shall  I  get  you  a  paper  to  write  things  down, 
so  you  won't  forget? 

BROWNIE  [shouts  angrily].     Forget! 

TED.     Yes,  I  thought  maybe  since  you're  so  old 

BROWNIE.  That  shows  all  you  know  about  it!  Of 
course  there's  some  excuse  for  your  forgetting,  since  your 
memory  is  only  ten  years  long,  but  mine's  a  thousand 
years  long,  and  I  never  forget  anything!  Come,  read  me 
this  list. 

TED  [reading].  "  Encyclopedia  Britannica."  Now 
Papa  can't  possibly  want  that,  because  he  knows  all  about 
everything  already.  And  besides,  I  heard  Mamma  say 


io6          THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE 

she  hadn't  a  bit  of  room  for  any  more  books.  "  New 
knife."  He  did  say  his  old  one  was  dull,  but  it's  alto- 
gether too  sharp  for  Robin  and  me  to  use,  and  that's 
sharp  enough  for  anybody!  "  New  pocketbook."  Why, 
he  said  the  other  day  he  hadn't  any  money  to  put  into 
it,  so  I  don't  see  what  good  that'll  do  him.  "  Key  ring." 
If  he  has  that,  he'll  put  all  the  keys  on  it,  and  there 
won't  be  any  for  Robin  and  me  to  drop  lead  through. 
[Turns  to  the  BROWNIE.]  So,  you  see,  there  isn't  a  thing 
that  he  really  wants  on  that  list. 

BROWNIE.     Oh,  certainly  not! 

TED.  Now,  Mamma's.  "  Half  a  dozen  new  bibs." 
Bibs!  They  don't  belong  on  her  list.  She  can't  have 
that!  "Little  rocking-chair."  Now,  if  she  has  a  little 
rocking-chair,  there  won't  be  any  room  for  us  on  the 
arms  of  it, — that  wouldn't  do  at  all.  "  A  rose  vase." 
All  her  vases  are  broken  now,  and  if  she  had  another, 
Maggie'd  just  smash  it,  too,  so  what's  the  use  in  giving 
it  to  her?  [Turns  to  list.]  What's  all  this  at  the  bot- 
tom ?  "  Most  of  all,  five  good  boys  and  girls  to  live  with 
till  next  Christmas  " !  Jiminy  Christopher,  how  can  she 
want  five  more? 

BROWNIE  [significantly].     She  didn't  say  "more." 

TED  [claps  his  hand  over  his  mouth].  Oh!  .  .  . 
P'r'aps  she  didn't  mean  that!  P'r'aps  she  meant  us! 
[Stares  thoughtfully  before  him.] 

BROWNIE.     Hurry  up!     Look  at  this  one. 

TED.  That's  Kitty's.  Let's  see.  "A  boy  doll  and 
a  girl  doll."  Now,  don't  you  think  Kitty's  altogether 
too  big  for  dolls?  I  suppose  little  girls  must  have  dolls, 
but  they're  terribly  silly  things.  "  Half  a  Dozen  Girls." 
That's  nothing  but  an  old  girl's  book.  Give  her  stories 
about  fights  and  Indians  and  bears  to  read  to  us.  "  Pa- 


THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE  107 

per  dolls."  There  it  is  again.  "  Napkin  ring."  Now, 
that's  the  only  sensible  thing  she's  got  down.  .  .  .  This 
one's  mine.  I  won't  stop  to  read  that,  because  I  only 
put  down  the  things  I've  got  to  have.  Let's  see  if  I  can 
read  Robin's.  [Puzzles  over  it.] 

BROWNIE  [reading  TED'S  list].  "Boxing-gloves. 
Baseball.  Roller-coaster.  Skates.  Boots.  Marbles." 

TED.  Oh,  now  I  see  what  it  is.  "  Rubber  boots." 
He  doesn't  need  those.  I'm  going  to  have  some  new 
ones,  and  my  others  aren't  much  too  big  for  him.  "  Mar- 
bles." He's  got  more  marbles  now  'n'  any  boy  I  know. 
"  Top.  Kite  " — this  isn't  the  time  of  year  for  those 
things.  Never  mind,  I'll  tell  you  what  he  wants  in  a 
minute.  Now,  Margie.  "  Dolls "  again.  She's  got 
three  dozen  if  she's  got  one!  "  Music-box."  Pshaw! 
they  just  go  and  smash  right  away.  "  Paints."  She'd 
paint  up  all  the  chairs  and  tables  in  the  house  and  nobody 
would  like  it  a  bit.  "  Little  stove  " — that  might  be  nice, 
— but  I'm  afraid  she'd  burn  herself.  You  see,  she  hasn't 
got  anything  good  on  her  list,  either.  Now,  Rose  comes 
last  of  all.  [Looks  at  ROSE'S  list  a  moment.]  Well,  I 
guess  Rosebud  ought  to  have  everything  she's  asked  for. 
[Turns  to  BROWNIE,  and  the  two  walk  away  from  the 
fire.]  Now,  didn't  I  tell  you  how  it  was?  People  want 
such  silly  things!  Now,  I'll  tell  you  what  to  bring  in- 
stead. [Puts  his  arm  across  BROWNIE'S  shoulder,  and 
whispers  in  his  ear,  pointing  to  one  stocking  after  an- 
other.} .  .  .  Now,  I  guess  that's  all.  It  was  awfully 
good  of  you  to  let  me  help,  and  I  know  they'll  all  be 
pleased.  [Walks  around  table,  sits  with  his  back  to  audi- 
ence. Stretches  his  arms  above  his  head,  and  yawns 
aloud.}  I  really  believe  I  could  go  to  sleep  now.  [Drops 
his  head  on  his  hands.  BROWNIE  waves  his  wand  above 


io8  THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE 

TED,    who   gradually   sinks   down,    head   on   arms,  fast 
asleep.] 

BROWNIE.  Now  I  guess  he's  in  for  a  good  night's 
sleep.  Little  scamp!  He  ought  to  have  some  kind  of  a 
trick  played  on  him,  but  Santa  Claus  forbids  any  pranks 
on  Christmas  Eve.  [Crosses  to  fireplace]  What  shall  I 
do  about  these  stockings,  anyway?  These  poor  children 
are  going  to  be  dreadfully  disappointed  to-morrow  if  I 
keep  my  promise  to  that  scallywag,  Ted.  Perhaps  I'd 
better  telephone  Santa  Claus  about  it.  [Takes  up  the 
toe  of  a  stocking  and  speaks  through  it,  moving  it  from 
mouth  to  ear  as  he  speaks  or  listens]  Hello !  Hello, 
there!  North  Pole!  Please  connect  me  with  Santa 
Claus.  .  .  .  Hello,  is  that  you,  Santa?  I  want  to  con- 
sult you  about  some  doubtful  business.  .  .  .  Yes,  sir,  Mr. 
Bird's  house.  .  .  .  His  boy  is  making  a  dreadful  mess 
with  these  stockings.  .  .  .  He  wants  them  all  filled  with 
presents  for  himself.  .  .  .  What's  that  you  say?  Let 
him  try  it  ?  .  .  .  Be  a  good  lesson  for  him  ?  .  .  .  All  right, 
sir!  Thank  you.  Any  trouble  with  icebergs?  No? 
.  .  .  That's  good.  .  .  .  All  right,  good-by!  [Drops 
stocking]  Well,  I  must  see  it  through,  then,  I  suppose. 
[Takes  down  the  stockings  and  carries  them  into  the 
chimney  two  at  a  time.  When  the  last  is  carried  out, 
he  brings  them  back  in  the  same  order,  filled.  To  avoid 
delay,  a  double  set  is  prepared,  the  BROWNIE  leaving  the 
empty  ones  and  bringing  the  full  ones  instead]  Well, 
he's  pretty  generous  to  himself,  anyway.  And  he  thinks 
it's  all  for  their  good!  [Walks  over  and  stands  looking 
at  TED.]  I'll  just  say  good-night  to  you,  now,  young 
man.  .  .  .  No!  before  I  go,  I  believe  I'll  give  you  a  few 
Christmas  dreams.  [Waves  his  wand  and  walks  slowly 
to  back  of  stage.  Scene  darkened,  lights  thrown  on  sec- 


THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE  109 

ondary  stage,  where  the  curtains  part  and  reveal  tableaux 
as  the  BROWNIE'S  song  calls  for  them*  He  stands  at 
back,  unseen.  Raise  curtain  before  the  end  of  verse  de- 
scribing picture.] 

BROWNIE'S  SONG 

Air:  "Fly,  Little  Birds." t 

Come,  Christmas  dreams,  from  Fairyland! 
Come,  at  the  beckoning  of  my  wand. 
'Tis  Christmas  Eve,  so  bring  with  you 
Bright  holly-berries  and  mistletoe,  too. 

I.    Now  first  we  have,  all  full  of  glee, 
A  youth  well  known  to  you  and  me. 
His  fondest  hopes  have  now  become 
Reality — he's  found  a  plum! 

Tableau:  Jack  Horner. 

II.     Dear  Santa  Claus  we've  always  known, 
But  Mrs.  Santa,  full  of  fun, 
Helps  her  good  husband  every  year, 
Or  else  he'd  never  get  done,  I  fear. 

Tableau:  Mrs.  Santa  Claus. 

III.    When  Santa  Claus  was  young  and  gay, 
And  full  of  fun,  like  boys  to-day, 
He  learned  that  youth's  the  key  to  joy, 
And  so,  you  see,  he's  still  a  boy. 

Tableau :  When  Santa  Claus  was  young. 

IV.    This  little  lad,  with  happy  smile, 
Of  toys  and  candies  has  a  pile. 

*  See  note,  p.  119. 

t"  Songs   and   Games  for   Little  Ones"    (p.  89).     See   Sug- 
gestions for  Carols,  p.  315. 


i  io          THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE 

Good  Santa  filled  his  stocking,  so— 
A  Merry  Christmas  he  has,  I  know. 

Tableau:  "Merry  Christmas." 

V.     But  there  are  children  not  far  away, 

Who  scarce  know  the  meaning  of  Christmas  Day. 
O  share  with  these,  ye  whose  plenteous  store 
Can  fill  a  dozen  homes  or  more. 

Tableau:  "No  Christmas." 

VI.     The  Christmas  Waits,  in  times  of  old, 

Sang  carols  sweet,  though  the  night  was  cold, 
And  wandered  thus,  from  door  to  door, 
Till  morning  dawned,  in  days  of  yore. 

Tableau:  The  Christmas  Waits.  [The  curtain  does 
not  rise  until  the  verse  is  ended,  then  shows  empty  stage. 
The  WAITS  begin  their  carol  behind  the  scenes,  marching 
single  file  till  the  first  couple  is  opposite  the  opening, 
when  they  turn,  join  hands,  and  enter  two  by  two.  The 
march  of  the  WAITS  may  be  as  simple  or  as  elaborate  as 
desired,  or  as  the  size  of  the  stage  permits.  Or  they  may 
walk  to  the  footlights,  and  stand  there  during  a  part  of 
their  song.  The  smallest  couple  should,  of  course,  lead. 
The  stage,  darkened  for  the  earlier  tableaux,  should  be 
made  bright  for  this  march.  At  the  end  of  the  march, 
the  WAITS  pass  out  as  they  entered,  and  the  back  curtain 
is  dropped* 

[The  BROWNIE  comes  forward  and  stands  by 
TED,  tapping  him  with  the  wand. 

BROWNIE.  Merry  Christmas,  Ted!  It  has  come  at 
last!  [Rushes  away  and  vanishes  in  chimney.] 

*  Carol  used  by  Waits:  "Noel!  Noel!  the  Christ  is  born" 
(p.  62,  "Songs  and  Games  for  Little  Ones").  No  better 
marching  song  can  be  found.  See  Suggestions  for  Carols,  p.  315. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE  in 

TED  [sits  up,  stretches,  yawns,  rubs  his  eyes,  and  looks 
around].  Why!  I  do  believe  I've  slept  here  all  night! 
[Sits  on  table.]  And,  my!  maybe  you  think  I  haven't 
been  dreaming!  Guess  I'll  go  see  what  time  it  is.  [Goes 
to  door,  turns,  and  sees  stockings.]  Jiminy  Christmas, 
just  look  at  those  stockings!  [Exit.] 

[Enter  NURSE  with  duster.    Sees  stockings. 

NURSE.  Well,  well!  did  I  ever!  Santa  Claus  has 
been  pretty  good  to  them  this  year. 

MARJORIE  [without,  calling].  Maggie!  Maggie! 
Mamma  says  we  may  have  our  stockings  right  off  now. 
Please  bring  them  to  us,  quick! 

NURSE.  That  I  will,  Miss  Margie,  fast  as  ever  I 
can!  [Lifts  them  down.]  Crammed  full,  I  declare!  and 
heavy! — heavy  as  that  good-for-nothing  Bridget's  cake! 

[Exit    NURSE.     Enter    BROWNIE,    cautiously 
following  her  to  door. 

BROWNIE  [peeping  out].  I've  got  to  see  the  end  of 
this  experiment!  [Flies  back  to  chimney  and  hides] 

[Enter  NURSE. 

NURSE  [dusting].  Old  Santa  Claus  is  mighty  good 
to  these  children.  Fills  up  stockings  like  those,  and  then 
comes  himself  and  brings  a  tree  on  top  of  all  that.  They 
must  be  pets  of  his. 

[Enter  TED  dejectedly,  sits  down,  and  drops 
his  head  on  his  arms. 

NURSE.  Dear,  dear!  whatever  is  the  matter,  Master 
Ted? 

TED  [darkly].  Oh,  go  downstairs,  Maggie,  and  you'll 
see! 

NURSE.  Mercy  on  us!  what's  happened?  [Shakes 
him.] 


112  THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE 

TED.  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear!  the  children  don't  like  their 
stockings ! 

NURSE.    What's  that  you  say? 

TED  [very  despairingly].  Oh,  go  away!  Go  down- 
stairs, and  you'll  see. 

NURSE  [in  traffic  tones].  Such  a  thing  never  hap- 
pened in  this  blessed  house  before!  [Rushes  out.] 

TED  [sitting/  up].  Oh,  dear,  what  shall  I  do  about 
it?  It's  just  dreadful,  and  it's  all  my  fault.  [BROWNIE 
pokes  his  head  out]  They  don't  want  my  things,  either, 
or  I'd  be  glad  to  give  them  all  I  got.  [Puts  his  head 
down  again.  Enter  KITTY,  MARJORIE,  and  ROBIN,  dis- 
consolately. Girls  sit  by  fire,  ROBIN  at  table.] 

ROBIN.  Well,  Kitty,  do  you  think  Santa  Claus 
couldn't  read  our  letters? 

KITTY.     I  don't  know  what  to  think! 

MARJORIE.  Well,  how  could  he  make  such  dreadful 
mistakes  ? 

ROBIN  [rubbing  his  eyes].  Didn't  bring  one  single 
thing  I  asked  for — didn't  bring  a  thing  but  books  and 
puzzles ! 

KITTY  [elbows  on  knees  and  chin  in  hands].  Brought 
me  a  box  of  fishing  tackle — and  I  just  hate  to  fish ! 

MARJORIE  [putting  handkerchief  to  eyes].  He  gave 
me  big  rubber  boots — and  I  don't  like  to  wade  in  the 
brook — I'm  afraid  of  snakes! 

[TED,  in  the  depths  of  woe,  slips  to  the  floor 
and  rests  his  head  on  his  chair. 

ROBIN.  Don't  see  why  Ted  feels  so  badly — Santa 
Claus  gave  him  everything  he  asked  for ! 

KITTY.  Yes,  and  Rosy's  stocking  was  all  right.  I'm 
glad  she  got  what  she  wanted — bless  her  little  heart! 

MARJORIE  [suddenly].    Oh,  Kitty,  what  shall  we  do 


THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE  113 

when  Santa  Claus  comes  and  asks  us  how  we  liked 
them? 

KITTY.  I  don't  care — I  can't  thank  him  for  those 
horrid  old  fish-hooks! 

ROBIN  [with  decision],  I'm  just  going  to  tell  him  he 
can  take  his  puzzles  and  give  them  to  some  other  boy! 

[Enter   FATHER   and   MOTHER,   sharing   the 
general  gloom. 

FATHER  {in  a  puzzled  tone].  It's  the  most  singular 
thing! 

MOTHER.  I  never  heard  of  Santa  Claus  making  a 
mistake  before. 

FATHER.     Two  empty  cigar  boxes  in  my  stocking! 

TED  [aside,  dismally}.  Those  were  for  Robin  and  me 
to  make  lanterns  of! 

FATHER.     I'm  sure  I  don't  know  who  wants  those! 

MOTHER.  And  a  roll  of  the  muslin  I  make  sails  of 
for  the  boys'  boats,  in  my  stocking!  With  some  old 
rags! 

TED  {aside  again].     Kite-tails! 

FATHER.  Well,  Santa  Claus  has  certainly  lost  his 
mind! 

MOTHER.  Well,  he'll  be  here  very  soon,  and  perhaps 
we  shall  find  out  what  these  queer  presents  mean.  [Looks 
at  her  watch.]  Come,  children,  you  must  get  your  faces 
washed,  and  look  as  bright  as  you  can  for  him. 

FATHER.     Perhaps,  after  all,  it's  just  some  joke  of  his. 

[Exeunt  all  but  TED. 

TED  [jumping  up].     I  know!     I'll  see  Santa  Claus 

first,  and  beg  him  to  take  back  these  things [Runs 

to  fireplace,  calling  softly.]  Oh,  Santa  Claus!  Santa 
Claus!  do  hurry!  [Sleigh  bells  in  distance.]  Oh,  Santa 
Claus ! 


1. 14          THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE 

SANTA  CLAUS  [up  chimney'].  Who's  that  I  hear  call- 
ing me? 

TED.  It's  me — me — me!  Ted  Bird!  Oh,  please 
hurry ! 

SANTA  CLAUS.  Yes,  yes!  But  this  chimney's  such  a 
tight  squeeze!  [Loud  jingling.] 

TED.  Oh,  please  be  quiet!  Please  don't  make  such 
a  noise! 

[Enter  SANTA  CLAUS,  through  fireplace,  bow- 
ing low  to  TED. 

SANTA  CLAUS.  Not  make  a  .noise?  I'd  just  like  to 
know  who  has  a  better  right  to  make  a  noise  than  I  ? 

TED.  Oh,  yes,  I  know,  but  I  must  speak  to  you  before 
the  others  come  in!  [Pulls  up  a  chair,  stands  on  it,  and 
puts  his  arm  across  SANTA  CLAUS'  shoulders.] 

SANTA  CLAUS.     What's  all  this  secrecy  about? 

TED.  It's  just  this,  Santa  Claus.  The  Brownie  let 
me  help  him  last  night,  and  I  told  him  such  nice  things 
to  put  in  the  stockings,  and  now  nobody  likes  them,  and 
everything's  in  a  terrible  muddle! 

SANTA  CLAUS.  Oho !  So  you've  been  finding  out  that 
it  isn't  so  easy,  after  all,  to  give  people  what  they  want, 
have  you? 

TED.  But,  Santa  Claus,  I  truly  thought  they  would 
like  it,  and  now  it's  just  dreadful!  What  shall  I  do? 
If  you'll  only  give  them  what  they  do  want,  you  can 
take  back  all  my  things!  I  wish  you  would!  Don't  you 
think  you  could,  just  for  this  once?  [ROSE  runs  in.] 

ROSE.  Oh,  Santa  Claus!  Santa  Claus!  [Exit,  call- 
ing.] Come,  Papa,  come,  Mamma,  here's  Santa  Claus! 
Robin!  Marjorie!  Kitty!  [Enter  all.  The  older  chil- 
dren hang  back,  ROSE  runs  to  SANTA  CLAUS  and  stands 
by  him.] 


THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE  115 

FATHER  [shaking  hands  with  SANTA  CLAUS].  How 
do  you  do,  sir,  how  do  you  do? 

MOTHER.  We're  very  glad  to  see  you  again,  Santa 
Claus.  [Motions  others  to  come,  NURSE  also  urging 
them  in  pantomime.] 

SANTA  CLAUS  [patting  ROSE'S  head,  and  looking  at 
other  children],  I  hear  there  are  some  children  here 
who  weren't  pleased  with  what  I  brought  them.  How's 
this?  [Children  turn  away,  and  hang  their  heads  in  em- 
barrassment] 

SANTA  CLAUS  [to  FATHER].  What  does  this  mean? 
Can  you  explain  it,  Mr.  Bird? 

FATHER.  Well — a — you  see,  the  stockings  really 
weren't  filled  after  your  usual  thoughtful  manner. 

SANTA  CLAUS  [bursts  into  a  loud  laugh,  at  which  the 
children  turn  in  injured  astonishment].  Well,  well! 
That's  a  good  joke! 

KITTY  [in  an  injured  tone].  We  didn't  think  it  was 
a  joke  at  all,  Santa  Claus. 

SANTA  CLAUS.  Well,  my  dear,  you  will  when  I  tell 
you  about  it.  You  see,  I  had  a  new  helper,  last  night, 
and  it  wasn't  to  be  expected  that  one  so  new  to  the  busi- 
ness wouldn't  make  some  mistakes.  Well,  this  one  made 
a  good  many, —  [to  TED]  didn't  he? 

TED  [dolefully].  I  should  think  he  did!  He  didn't 
do  anything  else  at  all! 

SANTA  CLAUS.  But  when  he  found  out  about  it,  he 
felt  very  badly,  indeed, — [to  TED]  didn't  he? 

TED.     He  never  felt  worse  in  his  life! 

SANTA  CLAUS.  So  he  came  to  me  and  begged  me  to 
fix  the  matter  for  him,  and  I've  agreed  to  do  it.  He 
never  suspected  that  I  knew  about  it  before  he  told  me, 
but  I  did  know,  all  the  time,  and  so  I've  come  prepared 


H6          THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE 

to  make  it  up  to  you  for  all  the  trouble  Ted  caused 

ALL.     Ted! 

SANTA  CLAUS.  Yes,  Ted.  [With  pretended  fierce- 
ness.] He  meddled  with  my  business  last  night. 

CHILDREN  [shocked].    Oh,  Santa  Claus! 

SANTA  CLAUS.  But  I'm  going  to  forgive  him,  because 
I  think  he  learned  a  good  many  things  about  Christmas 
while  he  was  at  it.  And  I  never  could  bear  to  see  anyone 
unhappy  when  I  pay  my  yearly  call,  so  come  along,  chil- 
dren, come,  Father  and  Mother  Bird,  and  we'll  see  if 
we  can't  find  something  to  suit  you  all  under  the  branches 
of  my  Tree !  * 

[Unveiling  of  Christmas  Tree  follows.  Chil- 
dren mingle  with  audience,  and  general 
distribution  of  presents  takes  place. 

•See  note  on  Tree,  p.  314,  and  Tree-song,  p.  315. 


NOTES  ON  COSTUME,  SETTING,  AND 
PRESENTATION 

For  the  parents,  nurse,  and  children,  ordinary  costumes. 
Adult  parts  taken  by  older  girls  and  boy.  Ages  of  chil- 
dren as  indicated  in  cast. 

BROWNIE.  Wears  a  close-fitting  suit  of  dark  brown 
canton  flannel,  with  trimmings  of  lighter  brown  or  tan 
— a  small  collar,  cuffs,  and  a  belt  with  long  points.  The 
shoes  are  long,  with  points  turned  up  at  the  toes,  and 
the  cap,  close-fitting,  hides  the  hair  and  covers  the  neck 
at  the  back,  but  allows  the  ears  to  show.  It  is  finished 
with  a  point  (stuffed  and  wired  to  keep  it  upright)  which 
comes  from  the  back  and  curves  above  the  head. 

All  the  Brownie's  actions  and  motions  should  be 
startlingly  sudden  and  swift.  He  should  alternate  be- 
tween absolute  stillness,  and  a  quickness  like  a  wild  bird's. 

A  great  deal  of  humor  can  be  put  into  the  scene  of 
disappointment  over  the  stockings,  especially  by  the  older 
girls  and  boy  who  play  the  adult  parts. 

Prepare  a  double  set  of  stockings,  one  empty,  the  other 
filled;  the  Brownie  carries  out  the  empty  ones,  and  re- 
turns with  the  full  ones.  As  these  are  not  examined  on 
the  stage,  they  may  be  stuffed  with  anything  that  is  most 
convenient.  Have  in  readiness  a  row  of  small  hooks  on 
the  mantel,  for  hanging  them. 

For  SANTA  GLAUS'  costume,  see  note,  p.  313. 


"7 


ii8  THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE 


COSTUMES  IN  THE  "  DREAM  " 

JACK  HORNER.  May  be  dressed,  if  desired,  in  Kate 
Greenaway  style,  but  ordinary  costume  is  all  that  is  re- 
quired. Jack  recites  the  nursery  rhyme,  at  the  end  pull- 
ing a  large  plum  out  of  a  brown  paper  pie. 

MRS.  SANTA  CLAUS.  A  plump  little  girl  in  a  long 
dark  dress,  white  apron  and  kerchief,  big  white  cap  with 
wide  frill,  and  large  spectacles  on  her  nose.  One  hand 
holds  the  corner  of  her  apron  full  of  toys,  the  other  is 
stretched  out  as  if  dispensing  gifts  to  the  children. 

YOUNG  SANTA  CLAUS.  Little  boy  in  boots,  thick 
coat,  toboggan  cap  and  mittens,  well  covered  with  white 
cotton  snow,  and  sprinkled  at  the  last  moment  with  dia- 
mond dust.  He  stands  with  one  hand  on  a  tall  red  chim- 
ney, the  other  just  lifting  his  heavy  pack  of  toys.  Make 
chimney  by  covering  a  long  dry-goods  box  with  red,  and 
painting  bricks  with  ordinary  black  ink.  Set  on  stage  for 
this  tableau. 

"  Merry  Christmas."  Little  boy,  daintily  dressed,  his 
arms  full  of  toys,  with  a  drum,  a  horse,  etc.,  piled  at  his 
feet. 

"  No  Christmas."  A  very  ragged  boy  and  girl.  The 
boy  stands  with  his  left  arm  around  his  little  sister,  his 
right  hand  holding  hers.  The  child  looks  up  into  his  face 
confidingly. 

The  Christmas  Waits.  Four  boys  and  four  girls  be- 
tween six  and  twelve  years  of  age.  These  children  may 
be  elaborately  dressed,  after  Seventeenth  Century  pictures, 
or  very  simply — the  girls  in  white  kerchiefs  and  caps,  the 
boys  in  short  capes  of  any  dull  black  material,  with 
steeple  hats,  made  of  cardboard  covered  with  black.  These 


THE  CHRISTMAS  BROWNIE  119 

children  should  have  good  voices  for  the  carol,  "  Noel ! 
Noel!  the  Christ  is  born!  "  *  March  as  described  in  text. 

These  tableaux  are  arranged  on  a  small  stage  or  plat- 
form behind  scene  at  back,  upon  which  the  light  is  con- 
centrated, the  main  stage  being  darkened.  Properties 
should  be  in  readiness,  and  the  children  must  be  taught 
to  take  their  poses  quickly  and  without  noise. 

For  this  small  stage  or  platform  a  kindergarten  table 
serves  excellently,  covered  with  dark  green,  a  step  being 
placed  for  the  use  of  the  Waits  in  their  march.  If  prac- 
ticable, a  curtain  made  to  match  the  scene,  and  rise  for 
the  tableaux,  may  be  used,  but  plain  curtains,  hung  like 
portieres,  and  parting  in  the  center,  are  also  effective. 
Attention  should  not  in  any  way  be  drawn  to  this  curtain, 
in  order  that  the  first  tableau  may  come  as  a  surprise  to 
the  audience.  The  point  of  chief  importance  is  that, 
whatever  the  arrangement  of  the  curtain,  it  should  work 
silently  and  without  hitch. 

*  See  note,  p.  315. 


A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS 

IN  TWO  ACTS 


CHARACTERS 


MISTRESS  DELIGHT  GOODSPEEDE. 

ROGER         "^ 

MYLES 

NATHAN      v  Her  children. 

PATIENCE 

PRUDENCE  J 

EAGLEFEATHER,  son  of  an  Indian  chief. 

ELDER  JONATHAN  HOPKINS 

DEACON  WILLIAM  PORTER 

GOODMAN  JOHN  TURNER 

DOMINIE  PETER  COBB 

GILBERT  APPLETON,  a  hunter 

MISTRESS  SUBMIT  WELLS  Colonists 

MISTRESS  PRAISEVER  PORTER 

DESIRE  PORTER 

and 

REUBEN  TURNER 

GERSHOM  PORTER 

JARED  PERKINS  Children 

JANE  PORTER 

PRISCILLA  WELLS 
The  action  takes  place  in  a  small  New  England  vil- 
lage,  not  far  from   Boston,   in   the   early   days   of   the 
colonies. 


A   PURITAN   CHRISTMAS 

Suggested  by  a  story  in  St.  Nicholas  for  December,  1880,  by 
S.  J.  Prichard.* 

ACT  I 

TIME:  Evening  of  December  i8th. 

SCENE:  Kitchen  in  MISTRESS  GOODSPEEDE'S  cottage,  a 
simple  and  bare  little  room.  Open  fireplace  f  [-£.].»  with 
exit  beside  it  supposed  to  lead  to  loft.  Back  R.,  door; 
L.t  window,  opening  upon  a  desolate  winter  scene.  L., 
door,  leading  to  another  chamber.  Down  L.,  a  spinning- 
wheel.  Furniture,  a  few  plain  chairs  and  stools,  and  a 
settle.  By  the  window  a  table  where  little  PRUDENCE 
and  PATIENCE  are  washing  the  supper  dishes.  PATIENCE 
stands  upon  a  stool  in  order  to  reach  the  dishpan  more 
easily,  PRUDENCE  wipes  the  dishes  and  lays  them  on  the 
table. 

PATIENCE  [severely].  Prudence,  if  thee's  not  very 
careful,  I  know  thee'll  drop  the  platter! 

PRUDENCE.  Oh,  no!  Patience,  I'm  being  very  care- 
ful. I  wouldn't  let  it  drop  for  anything.  It's  Mother's 
very  best  platter,  too. 

PATIENCE.  And  if  thee  broke  it,  who  knows  if  dear 
Mother  could  ever  get  a  new  one?  She  hath  told  me 
many  a  time  she  brought  it  with  her  from  Old  England, 

*  By  courtesy  of  Miss  K.  A.  Prichard  and  The  Century  Com- 
pany. 

t  See  note  on  Fireplace,  p.  313. 
123 


124  A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS 

and  she  saith  the  like  cannot  be  found  here — even  in 
Boston  town. 

PRUDENCE  [gives  it  an  admiring  look,  then  lays  it  cau- 
tiously on  the  table'].  I'm  sure  it's  the  most  beautiful 
platter  that  ever  was  seen.  Are  there  many  more  dishes, 
Patience,  dear? 

PATIENCE  [in  a  motherly  tone].  No.  Poor  little 
maid,  I  fear  me  thou'rt  very  weary.  Here — just  these 
cups,  and  I'll  help  thee.  [Gets  down  from  stool  and  helps 
to  wipe  one  or  two  cups.]  Where  are  the  boys,  I  won- 
der? You  and  I,  Prudence,  can  never,  never  reach  to 
put  the  dishes  away  on  the  shelf. 

PRUDENCE.  No,  but  brother  Roger  or  Myles  can  do 
it.  Mother  says  they  grow  like  tall  weeds. 

PATIENCE.  And  the  parson  says  they  are  brave 
striplings.  [Sighs.]  I  would  I  were  tall  and  strong. 
Then  I  should  never  be  afraid  of 

PRUDENCE  [looks  fearfully  over  her  shoulder], 
Afraid  of  what,  Patience? 

PATIENCE  [putting  her  arm  around  PRUDENCE].  Oh, 
never  mind,  Prudence,  dear,  not  afraid  of,  of — anything. 

PRUDENCE  [pushes  her  back  and  shakes  her  finger]. 
I  know,  Patience,  thee  was  going  to  say — Indians!  Oh, 
Patience,  doesn't  thee  wish  Mother'd  come  home?  [Lays 
her  head  on  PATIENCE'S  shoulder.  MYLES  and  NATHAN 
pass  the  window. ~\ 

PATIENCE.  Never  mind,  sister,  here  come  Myles  and 
Nathan.  [Enter  the  boys.]  Myles,  has  thee  seen 
Roger  ? 

NATHAN.     Roger  has  gone  to  fetch  our  Mother  home. 

PRUDENCE  [going  to  table].  Oh,  Myles,  won't  thee 
please  put  the  dishes  up  for  us?  Patience  and  I  are  far 
too  little.  [NATHAN  and  PRUDENCE  carry  dishes  one  at 


A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS  125 

a  time  to  MYLES,  who  puts  them  on  mantel.    PATIENCE 
wrings  out  her  dishcloth,] 

MYLES.     Where  is  Mother,  Patience? 
PATIENCE.     Mistress  Submit  Wells  hath  a  fever,  and 
after  supper  Mother  went  to  see  if  there  was  aught  she 
could  do  to  help. 

NATHAN  {looking  out  of  the  window'].  I  see  Mother 
and  Roger  coming  up  the  hill  now. 

PATIENCE.  Quick,  Nathan!  Empty  the  pan  for  us! 
[PATIENCE  opens  the  door  for  NATHAN,  who  carries 
pan  out.  PATIENCE  hangs  up  dishcloth  in  haste.] 
Mother  must  find  everything  neat  when  she  comes. 

[Re-enter  NATHAN,  putting  pan  in  cupboard 

or  under  table. 

MYLES  [mockingly].  Thou  art  a  great  housewife, 
Patience. 

PRUDENCE  [joyfully].     Here  they  are! 

[Enter    MOTHER    and    ROGER.     PRUDENCE, 
PATIENCE,  and  NATHAN  gather  about  her 
while  she  takes  off  her  cape  and  follow  her 
to  the  door  (L.)  when  she  puts  it  away. 
ROGER,  hanging  up  his  hat,  goes  to  fire. 
PATIENCE.     How    did    thee    find    Mistress    Wells, 
Mother? 

MOTHER.     Much  better  to-night,  daughter. 
PRUDENCE   [catching  at  her  skirts].     Thou'lt  not  go 
back,  then,  Mother? 

MOTHER.     No,  little  Prudence,  not  to-night. 
ROGER.     It's   fearsome   cold   out.     Do  stir   the   fire, 
Myles.     [Warms  his  hands,  while  MYLES  stirs  fire.] 

NATHAN.     Then  come  sit  down  with  us  by  the  fire, 
Mother.     Thee  surely  won't  work  any  more  to-night? 
MOTHER.     I  am  willing,  Nathan,  but  I  must  be  knit- 


126  A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS 

ting.  With  three  great  lads  who  wear  out  so  many 
stockings,  I  am  kept  more  than  busy,  even  if  the  good 
parson  did  not  exhort  us  never  to  be  idle.  [Exit  and  re- 
enter  with  knitting.] 

PATIENCE  [drawing  up  her  MOTHER'S  chair  and  ar- 
ranging stools].  Here,  Mother,  here's  thy  big  chair. 
Prudence  and  I  will  get  our  stools.  Oh,  Roger,  do  get 
out  of  the  way!  Make  haste!  Thee's  such  a  giant 
thee'll  block  the  firelight  out  entirely. 

[ROGER  gets  up  and  stands  before  the  fire, 
while  the  MOTHER  sits  down,  PRUDENCE 
beside  her  with  a  corncob  doll  and  PA- 
TIENCE at  her  knee,  also  knitting.  MYLES 
sits  with  his  back  against  the  chimney  and 
NATHAN  lies  at  full  length  before  the 
fire. 

ROGER  [good-humoredly~\.  What  a  pity  thee  didn't 
name  that  child  /mpatience,  Mother.  It  would  become 
her  so  much  better. 

MOTHER  [while  PATIENCE  bends  her  face  low  over  her 
knitting].  Does  thee  think  it  would  make  it  any  easier 
for  her  to  be  good,  Roger? 

ROGER.  Well,  I'm  glad  thou  gavest  us  good  sober 
English  names.  I'm  sure  'twould  never  help  me  to  be 
good  if  I  had  been  named  Hate-Evil,  like  Elder  Hop- 
kins' son.  Think  of  it — Hate-Evil  Hopkins! 

MYLES.  And  if  Father  had  called  me  Love-the- 
Truth  or  Have-Courage,  instead  of  naming  me  after  our 
fine  Captain  Standish,  I  know  I  never  would  have  tried 
half  so  hard  to  be  brave  and  truthful. 

MOTHER.  That  was  what  Father  cared  for,  Myles, 
whatever  thy  name  might  have  been. 

ROGER.     One  of  us  is  fitly  named,  at  any  rate,  Mother, 


A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS  127 

and    that    is    thyself,     Mistress    Delight    Goodspeede! 
[Bows.} 

PATIENCE.     Yes,  Mother  is  our  Delight. 
MYLES.     And  everybody's  else,  too. 
MOTHER  [laughing].     Take  care,  children,  you  will 
make  me  vain,  and  then  the  parson  will  preach  a  whole 
sermon   about  vanity,   and  call  out  in  the  midst  of  it, 
"  Delight  Goodspeede,  stand  forth!  " 
ROGER.     How  terrible!    [All  laugh.] 
NATHAN.     He    calleth   vanity    a    light   and    shallow 
thing,  but  I'll  warrant  me  he  would  turn  his  hour-glass 
at  the  least  four  times  while  he  discoursed  upon  it. 
MYLES.     More  terrible  still ! 

\All    laugh    again.     A    knock    at    the    door. 
ROGER  goes  to  answer  it,  NATHAN  sits  up 
with  interest,  and  PRUDENCE,  who  has  been 
walking   her   corncob   doll   up   and  down, 
rushes  to  her  MOTHER'S  chair. 
ROGER  [his  hand  on  the  lock].     Who  knocks? 
INDIAN  [without].     Eaglef eather ! 
ROGER  [turning  to  his  MOTHER].     Mother,  'tis  the 
Indian  boy  you  helped  when  he  was  wounded  last  winter. 
May  I  let  him  in? 

MOTHER.     He  hath  always  been  friendly.     Open  for 
him,  Roger. 

ROGER   [opening  the  door].     Come  in,  Eaglef  eather ! 
Thou'rt  right  welcome. 

[Enter  INDIAN,   bow  in   hand.     MYLES  and 

NATHAN  go  to  him. 

MOTHER.     What  does  he  want,  Roger?    Mayhap  he  is 
hungry. 

ROGER    [pointing    to    his    mouth].     Hungry,    Eagle- 
feather?    Want  something  to  eat?    Bread? 


128  A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS 

INDIAN  [shakes  his  head].  No  hungry.  Braves  go 
hunt.  [Draws  his  bow.]  Kill  much,  much,  much  deer. 
[Spreads  out  his  arms.]  No  hungry;  cold.  [Folds  his 
arms  and  shivers.]  Can  warm?  [Boys  briny  him  to 
fire.-] 

MOTHER.     Yes,  indeed ;  make  room  for  him,  boys. 

MYLES.  He  can  stay  as  long  as  he  likes,  mayn't  he, 
Mother? 

MOTHER  [smiles  and  nods  at  the  boy].  Yes,  we  know 
he  is  our  friend.  We  trust  him. 

NATHAN.  Doesn't  thee  remember  how  he  taught  us 
to  shoot,  and  make  baskets  for  thee  and  the  girls? 

INDIAN.  Hmph!  Eaglefeather  teach  young  brave 
much  more  some  day.  Many,  many  new  thing. 

NATHAN.  Oh,  that  is  good  news.  What  things, 
Eaglefeather  ? 

INDIAN.  Eaglefeather  not  tell.  Eaglefeather  show, 
to-morrow.  Tired  now.  March  long,  long  time. 

MOTHER.     Yes,  poor  lad.     Let  him  rest  now,  boys. 
[INDIAN  lies  before  fire,  ROGER  and  MYLES 
as    before,    NATHAN    behind    MOTHER'S 
chair. 

ROGER.  Thou'rt  always  the  one  to  think  of  making 
folks  comfortable,  Mother.  What  would  Mistress  Wells 
say  if  she  saw  Eaglefeather  here  now? 

MYLES.     He  never  would  be  beside  her  kitchen  fire. 

NATHAN.     Not  if  he  was  frozen  stiff. 

MOTHER.  For  shame,  boys;  Mistress  Wells  hath  been 
very  kind  to  us. 

PATIENCE.  I  think  she  is  a  very  sour-visaged  woman, 
and  I  can't  see  why  thee  wants  to  help  her. 

[MOTHER    gazes    thoughtfully    into    the 
fire. 


A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS  129 

ROGER  {watching  her].  I  know  what  Mother  is 
thinking  of! 

MOTHER.  Tell  us,  then,  Roger,  if  thou  be  a 
wizard. 

ROGER.  Mother  is  thinking  that  in  Old  England  this 
is  Yule-tide 

MOTHER.  Verily,  I  believe  thou  art  a  wizard,  Roger, 
for  thou'st  guessed  aright! 

MYLES  and  NATHAN.  Tell  us  about  the  Yule-tide, 
Mother. 

PRUDENCE.     Is  this  the  Christmas  day,  Mother? 

ROGER.  No,  Prudence.  It's  the  twenty-fifth  that  is 
Christmas.  Isn't  it,  Mother  ? 

MYLES.     Just  a  week  from  to-day? 

MOTHER.  Yes,  children,  just  a  week  from  to-day  it 
will  be  Christmas  in  Old  England. 

PATIENCE.  But  why  did  Mistress  Wells  make  thee 
think  of  Christmas? 

MOTHER.  'Twas  what  Myles  said  about  Mistress 
Wells  and  Eaglefeather  here.  'Twas  because  Christmas 
in  my  father's  home  in  Old  England  was  the  time  of  all 
others  when  people  did  kind  and  friendly  deeds,  when 
poor  folks  came  to  the  houses  of  rich  men  without  fear 
of  being  driven  away,  and  our  homes  were  open  to  all 
who  needed  food  and  warmth. 

PRUDENCE  \wonderingly'].  Why,  then,  Mother,  I 
think  it  must  have  been  like  heaven! 

NATHAN.  Mother,  doesn't  thee  sometimes  wish  we 
were  all  back  in  England  once  more? 

MOTHER  [earnestly].     Never  wish  that,  my  son. 

MYLES.  Not  after  all  the  bitter  cold  winters  and 
hardships  here,  Mother? 

MOTHER.     'Tis  the  very  hardships  we  have  endured 


130  A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS 

that  will  build   up  a  new  and   better   England   for  us 

here,  Myles But  the  Old  Christmas  was  a  happy 

time. 

[EAGLEFEATHER,  who  has  been  sleeping,  sits 
up,  and  from  this  point  listens  intently. 

ROGER.     Won't  thee  tell  us  more  about  it,  then? 

MOTHER.  I've  told  thee  many  times  already,  Roger, 
how  the  great  Yule-log  was  brought  in  and  lighted  on 
Christmas  Eve — such  a  monster  log  that  it  would  burn 
until  Twelfth  Night.  We  always  saved  a  bit  of  it,  then, 
to  light  the  next  year's  log.  The  old  folks  said  that  was 
for  luck.  All  the  young  folks  went  out  into  the  forest 
to  gather  the  Christmas  greens,  holly,  mistletoe,  and  long 
festoons  of  ground  pine  for  wreaths.  Ah,  it  was  merry 
work,  and  the  great  hall  in  my  father's  house  was  a  brave 
sight  when  we  had  decked  it  in  the  green.  And  on 
Christmas  day  we  had  our  Christmas  bough  cov- 
ered with  shining  candles  and  bright  gifts  for  each 
other. 

PRUDENCE.     How  beautiful,  Mother! 

MOTHER.  And  we  were  awakened  at  dawning  by  the 
poor  children  of  the  village  singing  their  joyous  carols 
beneath  our  windows. 

MYLES.     How  I  wish  I  could  hear  them! 

ROGER.  The  singing  in  our  meeting  on  the  Sabbath 
isn't  very  joyful,  is  it,  Myles? 

MYLES.  Beshrew  me  if  'tis.  This  is  the  way  the 
elders  and  deacons  stand  and  sing.  [  MYLES  and  ROGER 
stand  side  by  side,  eyes  closed  and  hands  folded  before 
them,  droning  an  old  psalm  tune.]  * 

*  As  the  boys  would  hardly  have  been  permitted  to  finish 
their  song,  the  mother  may  leave  the  room  before  they  begin, 
coming  back  to  reprove  them  sharply  when  it  is  over. 


A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS  131 

Tune:  "Windsor." 

My  days  consume  away  like  Smoak 

Mine  anguish  is  so  great. 
My  bones  are  not  unlike  a  hearth 

Parched  and  dry  with  heat. 

Such  is  my  grief  I  little  else 

Can  do  but  sigh  and  groan. 
So  wasted  is  my  flesh  I'm  left 

Nothing  but  skin  and  bone. 

Like  th'  Owl  and  Pelican  that  dwell 

In  desarts  out  of  sight 
I  sadly  do  bemoan  myself 

In  solitude  delight. 

The  Ashes  I  rowl  in  when  I  eat 

Are   tasted   with  my  bread 
And  with  my  drink  are  mixed   the  tears 

I  plentifully  shed. 

MOTHER  [rising].  Roger  and  Myles,  silence!  I  will 
not  have  this  wicked  mocking  of  our  good  elders.  Haven't 
you  heard  the  parson  tell  the  story  of  how  the  bears  ate 
the  children  who  mocked  Elisha? 

ROGER.     Forgive  us,  Mother,  we  meant  no  disrespect. 

MYLES.  But,  verily,  the  sound  of  the  singing  maketh 
me  almost  as  sad  as  the  sight  of  the  bears  could. 

NATHAN.  But,  Mother,  why  do  the  good  fathers 
never  allow  us  to  have  a  Christmas? 

ROGER.  There  can  be  no  wrong  in  the  things  thou'st 
told  us.  Peace  and  good  will  and  neighborliness. 

MOTHER.  But  that  was  not  all,  Roger.  With  the 
feasting  and  merriment  came  much  that  the  good  Puritan 
Fathers  did  well  to  abolish. 

PRUDENCE  [stands  at  MOTHER'S  knee].  But,  Mother, 
isn't  a  birthday  always  a  happy  day?  [MOTHER  nods 


132  A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS 

and  smiles.'}  Then  I  should  think  the  Lord  Christ's 
birthday  would  be  the  very  happiest  day  of  all,  and  the 
good  parson  would  like  to  have  us  sing  and  be  joyful  and 
glad. 

MOTHER  [kisses  her].  Thou'rt  too  little  to  under- 
stand it  yet,  my  Prudence.  [Rises.]  Come,  we  have  sat 
too  long  with  our  talking.  If  our  candles  are  not  soon 
out,  the  tithing-man  will  be  tapping  at  our  door  and  re- 
proving us.  [Leads  the  two  little  girls  and  NATHAN  to 
door  (L.)~\.  Come,  children.  Myles,  see  that  the  fire 
is  safe.  Roger,  is  the  door  fast?  [ MYLES  and  ROGER 
attend  to  the  fire  and  the  door.] 

INDIAN.     Must  Eaglefeather  go  now? 

MOTHER.  Does  thee  think,  lad,  that  savage  though 
thou  art,  I  would  drive  thee  out  into  the  bitter  night? 
No,  there  is  too  much  Yule-tide  in  our  hearts  for  that! 
I  have  no  bed  for  thee,  but  lay  thee  down  by  the  fire 
and  welcome.  [Begins  to  wind  the  clock.]  Boys,  bring 

in  some  straw  for  a  bed Stay  a  moment.  Straw 

will  not  do.     A  chance  spark  from  the  fire  might  light 

it,    and    burn    the    house    above    our    heads.     There    is 

an  old  mat  in  the  shed  without.    See  if  you  can  find  it. 

[Exeunt  all  three  boys;  MOTHER  takes  down 

candles  from  mantel  and  slowly  extinguishes 

one;  holds  the  other  in  her  hand,  absently 

snuffing  it.    Stands  facing  audience. 

MOTHER  [musingly].  I  told  little  Prudence  she  was 
too  young  to  understand,  yet  with  my  years,  am  I  quite 
sure  that  I  understand  it  myself?  No,  the  good  Fathers 
can  never  crush  and  kill  the  loving  Christmas  spirit. 
[Enter  boys,  quietly  arranging  mat,  on  which  INDIAN 
stretches  himself.  ROGER  goes  to  fasten  door.]  Why 
should  little  children  not  be  joyous  and  glad  on  the  holy 


A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS  133 

day?  Why  should  not  I  help  them  to  celebrate  it? 
[Hesitates,  then  firmly  and  decidedly.]  I  believe — I  will 
do  it!  Boys,  come  here.  [Boys  come  to  her  side. 
REUBEN  TURNER  and  GERSHOM  PORTER  pass  window, 
glance  in  curiously,  then  bend  close,  listening  to  all  that 
is  said.]  Roger,  what  would  thee  and  Myles  say  to  a 
Christmas  bough  of  our  very  own? 

MYLES.     Oh,  Mother! 

ROGER.     Does  thee  mean  truly,  Mother? 

MOTHER.     Of  a  truth  I  do  mean  it,  Roger. 

ROGER.     But,  Mother,  they  will  persecute  thee 

MYLES.     And  drive  us  all  into  the  wilderness 

ROGER.  And  with  Father  away  on  his  ship,  who  could 
take  care  of  thee? 

MOTHER.  I  have  come  into  one  wilderness  before, 
Myles.  I  am  not  afraid. 

ROGER.     But  how  can  we  do  it,  Mother  ? 

MOTHER.  I  will  go  up  to  Boston  town  to-morrow — 
I  can  easily  walk  there  and  back  again  before  'tis  dusk — 
and  buy  what  little  things  I  may  for  gifts.  I  hear  that 
a  ship  has  but  now  come  into  port. 

MYLES.  Doesn't  thee  wish  it  was  Father's  vessel, 
Roger  ? 

ROGER.     Then  wouldn't  we  have  a  Christmas! 

MOTHER.  'Twill  be  many  a  weary  month  before  Fa- 
ther's ship  returns,  I  fear.  But  whatever  this  bark  may 
be,  she  hath  surely  brought  some  small  trinkets  that  will 
do  for  us.  I'll  find  them  and  bring  them  home  with  me. 
Then  on  the  day  before  Christmas  thou  and  Myles  must 
go  into  the  woods  and  cut  a  small  evergreen,  as  perfect 
a  one  as  you  can  find.  At  dark  on  Christmas  Eve  you 
can  bring  it  home,  and  when  the  children  are  in  bed  we 
will  dress  it.  Then,  early  on  Christmas  dawn,  before 


134  A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS 

the  neighbors  are  stirring,  we  will  light  it  and  wake  the 
little  ones. 

ROGER.     But,  Mother,  they  will  surely  find  us  out ! 

MYLES.  That  Reuben  Turner  is  always  spying  upon 
us.  And  so  is  Gershom  Porter.  [Boys  at  window  dodge 
below  the  sill.] 

ROGER.  And,  Mother,  they  think  thou  art  only  half 
a  Puritan  now,  because  thou  canst  sometimes  smile  and 
art  not  always  stern  and  sour  like  the  rest. 

MYLES.  And  they  say  thou  art  vain  and  frivolous 
because  thou  keep'st  brazen  fire-dogs  and  candlesticks 
instead  of  iron  ones. 

ROGER.  And  dost  not  dress  thy  daughters  in  solemn 
black. 

MOTHER  [laughing].     Do  they  say  so?    What  a  list 

of  sins!     [Seriously.]     With  thee  and  Myles  to  help  me 

I  am  not  afraid.    We  will  have  our  Christmas  bough — 

no,   not  a  bough,  but  a  whole  tree — if  we  needs  must 

light  it  at  midnight  and  cover  the  window  with  blankets! 

Now  get  quickly  to  bed  in  the  loft.     'Tis  shocking  late! 

[All  turn  to  go,  boys}  R.f  MOTHER  to  door 

(L.). 

MYLES  [running  after  her].  Mother,  Mother!  won't 
thee  teach  us  some  Christmas  carols,  some  real  joyful 
ones — so  I  can  forget  about  those  bears? 

MOTHER.  Yes,  yes,  Myles.  Now  go  quickly.  This 
shall  be  the  first  Christmas  in  New  England. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 

TIME:  Before  dawn  of  December  25th. 

SCENE:  Same  as  before.  Stage  quite  dark  except  for 
firelight.  Window  covered  with  a  blanket.  Lights  high 
on  one  side  at  back  to  represent  moonlight  when  door 
is  opened.  Enter  MOTHER  [L.]  with  a  lighted  candle. 
Goes  to  door  [R.] 

MOTHER  [calling].  Roger!  Myles!  Make  haste.  [Looks 
at  clock,  arranges  fire,  examines  blanket  hurriedly.] 

MYLES  [softly].  We're  coming,  Mother.  [Enter 
MYLES  and  ROGER  (R.).] 

ROGER.     Are  the  others  waked  yet,  Mother? 

MOTHER.  Yes,  they  are  dressing.  Quickly  now,  bring 
in  the  tree  whilst  I  see  if  they  need  help.  [Exit  (LJ, 
leaving  candle  on  mantel.  Boys  open  outer  door.] 

ROGER.  How  cold  it  is.  See,  Myles,  the  moon  hath 
not  yet  set. 

MYLES.  Yes,  yes.  Come,  Roger.  [Disappear  (L.). 
[REUBEN  TURNER  and  GERSHOM  PORTER 
at  door,  look  cautiously  in,  then  peer 
around  after  the  boys. 

REUBEN  [softly].    I  see  naught  of  any  Christmas  bough. 

GERSHOM.  Yet  we  surely  heard  them  planning 

How  angry  the  parson  would  be.  I  believe  he  would 
even  drive  them  away  like  the  Quakers. 

REUBEN.  My  father  bade  me  look  and  bring  him 
word  if  what  they  said  was  true. 

GERSHOM.  Beshrew  me,  if  they  haven't  covered  the 
window  so  that  none  may  see  them. 


136  A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS 

[MvLES  and  ROGER  heard  returning  with  ex- 
clamations "Have  a  care!"  "Gently 
now!"  etc.  REUBEN  and  GERSHOM  hide 
themselves  without.  Enter  ROGER  and 
MYLES  with  the  tree  already  decked  and 
fastened  in  a  small  wooden  box,  which  they 
place  in  center  of  stage.  Their  backs 
turned,  REUBEN  and  GERSHOM  appear 
again  at  door,  hold  up  their  hands  in  hor- 
ror, whisper  together,  and  make  signs  of 
caution.  Watch  until  MOTHER  appears, 
then  they  vanish. 

MYLES.  There:  we  got  it  in  quite  safely,  Roger. 
Dost  think  the  Christmas  boughs  in  England  could  have 
been  prettier? 

ROGER  [at  door~\.     Mother,  we're  ready  now. 

[Enter  MOTHER,  taking  candle  again. 
MOTHER.     Roger,  Roger!  shut  the  door  at  once,  care- 
less boy!    Art  mad?     [ROGER  fastens  door.]     The  chil- 
dren   are    nearly    ready    and    grow    impatient.     Make 
torches,  both  of  you,  and  help  me  to  light  the  candles. 

[Boys  take  splinters  of  wood  from  the  fire- 
place and  all  go  about  the  tree,  lighting 
candles,  arranging  gifts  more  firmly,  etc., 
while  PATIENCE  and  PRUDENCE,  without, 
sing  "  Waken,  Christian  Children." 

WAKEN,  CHRISTIAN  CHILDREN  » 

(From  "  Christmas  Carols  New  and  Old,"  Novello  &  Company.) 
Waken,   Christian  children, 

Up,  and  let  us  sing, 
With  glad  voice,  the  praises 

Of  our   new-born   King. 
*  See  note  on  Carols,  p.  315. 


A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS  137 

Come,  nor  fear  to  seek  Him, 

Children  though  we  be; 
Once  He  said  of  children, 

"Let  them  come  to  Me." 

In  a  manger  lowly, 

Sleeps  the  Heavenly  Child; 
O'er  Him  fondly  bendeth 

Mary,  Mother  mild. 

Haste  we  then  to  welcome, 

With  a  joyous  lay, 
Christ,  the  King  of  Glory, 

Born  for  us  to-day. 

(There  are  additional  verses,  and  this  hymn  is  to  be  found 
in  various  collections.  A  slightly  different  version  is  in  Eleanor 
Smith's  "  Songs  for  Little  Children,"  Part  I.) 

NATHAN   [without].     Can't  we  come  now,  Mother? 
MOTHER.     One  moment,  children! 
PATIENCE.     It   grows   light,    Mother.      I'm   afeared. 
Mustn't  we  hasten? 

MOTHER.     Presently,  presently!    Is  all  ready,  Roger? 

MYLES.     Yes,  every  candle. 

MOTHER  [going  to  door  (L.)].     Come,  now! 

[Enter  NATHAN,  PATIENCE,  and  PRUDENCE 
(L.),  the  girls  singing  first  verse  of  their 
song. 

PATIENCE  [breaking  off].     Oh,  Mother! 
NATHAN.     How  beautiful! 
PRUDENCE.     Oh,  Mother,  it  feels  like  a  dream! 
MOTHER    [bending  over  her  and  leading  her  near]. 
It   is  no  dream,   little   daughter.     Come   near   and   see. 
[PRUDENCE  timidly  touches  one  branch  with 
her  finger. 


138  A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS 

PRUDENCE  [turning  quickly  and  looking  up  to  her 
MOTHER].  Oh!  it  is  real! 

MYLES.     Of  course  it  is  real.    A  real  Christmas  Tree. 

ROGER  [folding  his  arms].  Now  I  feel  like  a  real 
Englishman ! 

NATHAN.  Is  this  like  the  boughs  thee  remembers 
when  thee  was  a  little  girl,  Mother? 

MOTHER.  As  much  like  as  I  could  make  it,  Nathan. 
Except  that  I  like  this  one  even  better. 

PATIENCE.  Oh,  see  the  pretty  presents!  Oh,  did 
Eaglefeather  make  these  lovely  baskets  for  us? 

MYLES.  Yes,  and  that's  why  he  wouldn't  let  thee  see 
what  he  was  working  on. 

NATHAN.     But  where  is  Eaglefeather,  Myles? 

ROGER.  We  can't  think  where  he  is.  He  didn't  come 
back  last  night. 

PATIENCE.     Oh,  I  don't  want  him  to  miss  it! 

MYLES.  Hark!  [A  bob-white  is  heard  without.] 
That's  his  whistle  now. 

MOTHER.     Open  cautiously,  Myles. 

[MYLES  and  ROGER  open  door  a  little  and 
close  it  as  soon  as  the  Indian  has  slipped 
through.  PATIENCE  and  PRUDENCE  run 
to  draw  him  to  the  tree. 

PATIENCE.  See,  Eaglefeather!  Just  see  our  Christ- 
mas Tree! 

PRUDENCE.     Isn't  it  beautiful,  Eaglefeather? 

INDIAN.  Beautiful!  Eaglefeather  think  like  many 
stars!  {Points  to  candles,  then  touches  something  shin- 
ing.] Like  sun  shining  on  snow  fields. 

MYLES.     Now,  Mother,  can't  we  sing  our  carol? 

MOTHER.  Yes,  Myles,  and  then  it  will  be  more  than 
ever  like  Old  England. 


A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS  139 

[All  sing  "  Come  Ye  Lofty"    At  the  end  of 
second  verse   a  sound   of  great   knocking, 
shouting,    and    calls    of    "  Open!     Open! 
Mistress     Goodspeede."      PATIENCE     and 
PRUDENCE    hide    behind    their    MOTHER, 
NATHAN  stands  at  her  side,  MYLES  and 
ROGER   seize  sticks,   and   EAGLEFEATHER 
draws  a  small  tomahawk. 
PATIENCE  and  PRUDENCE.     'Tis  Indians! 
ROGER.     'Tis  no  Indians,  'tis  the  colonists! 
MYLES.     They've  found  us  out ! 

[Noise  continues. 
TURNER  and  PORTER.     Open!  open  there! 

MISTRESS  WELLS.     I  see  the  light 

DESIRE     PORTER.     It     shines     through     the     cracks 

here 

DOMINIE   COBB.     Verily  none  need  hope  to  conceal 
evil! 

TURNER  [knocking  louder].     Open!  open! 

MISTRESS  PORTER.     Shut  in  like  wolves 

GERSHOM.     Yea — like  wolves  in  a  cage 

REUBEN.     I  told  thee  the  window  was  covered. 
JARED.     Mayhap  the  house  is  afire! 
ELDER  HOPKINS.     Hold,  friends!     [Silence  without.] 
Mistress  Goodspeede,    in   the  name  of   the   Governor   I 
command  you  to  open  for  us! 

ROGER  [looking  to  his  MOTHER].     Must  I,  Mother? 
MOTHER  [huskily].     Open  for  them,  Roger, 

[ROGER  opens  the  door  and  all  but  GILBERT 
APPLETON  press  in.  Chorus  of  scandalized 
exclamations,  "Oh,  oh!" 

PORTER.     What  is  the  meaning  of  this,  woman? 
DOMINIE  COBB.     Do  not  attempt  to  deceive  us! 


HO  A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS 

TURNER.    Answer. 

MISTRESS  WELLS.  She  hath  not  a  word  to  say  for 
herself. 

MISTRESS  PORTER.  Ah!  we  always  knew  she  was  not 
one  of  the  elect! 

REUBEN.  And  they  have  even  one  of  the  hateful  sav- 
ages with  them! 

GERSHOM.     Who  would  harbor  the  wretches? 

DESIRE  [pullinff  her  mother's  sleeve].  But,  Mother, 
see  how  pretty  it  all  is! 

PRISCILLA.     Oh,  the  beautiful  tree!     And  gifts,  too! 

JANE.  I  would  it  were  my  little  tree.  Doesn't  thee 
wish  so,  Desire? 

DOMINIE  COBB.  Dost  see,  woman,  how  swiftly  thy 
ungodly  example  doth  work  to  corrupt  these  wenches? 

MISTRESS  PORTER.  Silence,  Desire!  [She  and  MIS- 
TRESS WELLS  try  to  hustle  the  children  out  of  sight  of 
the  tree.] 

ELDER  HOPKINS.  Speak,  woman,  and  tell  us  the 
meaning  of  this. 

PATIENCE  [timidly'].  Please,  sir,  'tis — 'tis — 'tis  a 
Christmas  Tree! 

PORTER.    We  knew  it! 

TURNER.  Aye,  my  son  Reuben  hath  told  us.  He 
heard  them  speaking  of  it  not  a  week  since. 

PORTER.  And  Gershom,  too — they  have  kept  good 
watch  upon  these  evil-doers. 

MYLES  [angrily,  to  REUBEN].  So  thou  wast  listen- 
ing at  the  window.  Sneak! 

REUBEN  [blustering].  And  may  not  the  King's 
subject  walk  upon  the  King's  highway,  Sir  Cock- 
sparrow  ? 

ROGER  [shaking  his  fist  at  boys].     Methinks  'twill  take 


A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS  141 

the  King's  soldiers  to  protect  thee  when  once  we  catch 
thee 

GERSHOM.  We'll  show  thee,  thou  blusterer,  if  we  be 
not  as  free  as  thou ! 

[TURNER   and   PORTER    seize    REUBEN    and 
GERSHOM  and  draw  them  back. 

MOTHER  [sternly,  touching  ROGER'S  shoulder}.  Peace, 
Roger  and  Myles.  Is  this  the  Christmas  spirit  we  talked 
of  but  now? 

ELDER  HOPKINS  [severely].  Woman,  dost  thou  for- 
get that  we  fled  from  England  for  this  very  cause,  that 
we  might  escape  and  save  our  children  from  just  such 
sinful  folly  as  this?  How  darest  thou,  with  these 
baubles  and  fripperies,  bring  temptation  into  our  very 
midst?  I  know  of  no  punishment  too  severe  for  such 
evil  examples!  Not  the  ducking-stool,  nor  the  stocks, 

nor    even    banishment    itself [Shakes    his    finger 

threateningly,  at  the  same  time  going  a  step  nearer  to  her. 
Enter  GILBERT  APPLETON,  remaining  in  background.] 

EAGLEFEATHER  [springing  before  MISTRESS  DELIGHT 
with  lifted  tomahawk].  Stop!  stop!  No  hurt  good 
Squaw.  Listen!  Me  tell.  Me  Eaglefeather.  Father 
big  chief — Bald  Eagle.  She  good,  kind  squaw.  Take 
Eaglefeather  in,  feed,  make  warm,  make  hurt  foot  well. 
Teach  Eaglefeather  be  good  Indian.  Eaglefeather  go 
home  camp.  All  braves  say  "  This  night  go  burn  vil- 
lage." Eaglefeather  find  Bald  Eagle.  Say,  "  Not  burn 
village.  Good  people.  Indian's  friend.  Good  squaw. 
Kind  to  Eaglefeather."  Bald  Eagle  listen.  Eaglefeather 
tell  about  Tree.  Say  this  Christmas  Day.  Good  Day. 
Nobody  hurt  nobody.  Bald  Eagle  listen.  Say  tell  braves. 
Not  let  braves  burn  village.  Now,  now!  Not  hurt 
kind  squaw!  [Folds  his  arms  proudly.] 


H2  A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS 

GILBERT  APPLETON  [cominff  forward].  Every  word 
the  lad  says  is  true,  sir! 

ALL.  Gilbert  Appleton !  What  does  he  mean !  How 
does  thee  know? 

GILBERT.  Because  I  was  there.  Good  friends  and 
neighbors,  you  all  know  that  I,  Gilbert  Appleton,  have 
been  much  among  the  savages.  I  know  their  speech,  and 
their  ways.  Bald  Eagle's  tribe  have  always  seemed 
friendly,  but  two  days  ago,  when  I  was  hunting  with  my 
match-lock  near  their  camp,  they  made  a  prisoner  of 
me  and  kept  me  there  until  just  now.  What  Eaglefeather 
here  hath  told  you  is  true.  They  would  have  burned 
the  village  if  he  had  not  begged  the  chief  for  the  sake 
of  Mistress  Delight's  great  kindness  to  spare  it.  Good 
neighbors,  'tis  my  belief  that  this  little  Christmas  tree 
hath  saved  us  all!  [During  his  story  all  hang  upon  his 
words,  drawing  close  and  shuddering  at  the  thought  j/ 
a  massacre,  and  sighing  with  relief  at  the  end.] 

ALL.  Strange!  Wonderful!  Did'st  ever  hear  the 
like! 

GILBERT.  And,  furthermore,  the  savages,  who  meant 
to  make  me  guide  them  by  the  quickest  way  into  our  vil- 
lage, were  moved  to  set  me  free  at  midnight  and  I  have 
but  now  made  my  way  back  to  you! 

TURNER.     Unheard-of  forbearance! 

DOMINIE  COBB.     Can  we  credit  our  ears! 

MISTRESS  WELLS.     'Tis  like  a  miracle! 

MISTRESS  DELIGHT.  'Tis  not  so  strange,  either.  We 
do  not,  we  cannot  know  how  much  power  even  a  very 
little  good  will  and  friendliness  may  have.  I  but  thought 
to  make  my  children  happy,  and  because  I  loved 
my  dear  home  in  Old  England  I  told  them  of  customs 
there. 


A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS  143 

PRUDENCE.  Mother,  I  would  like  to  tell  the  good 
Elder  something. 

PATIENCE  [aside].  He  will  only  say  thou  art  a  for- 
ward wench,  Prudence. 

PRUDENCE.  Will  he,  Mother?  Will  he  frown  and 
say,  "  Children  should  be  seen  and  not  heard  "  ? 

ELDER  HOPKINS.  Nay,  my  little  maid.  I  will  listen 
gladly. 

[PRUDENCE  goes  to  him  and  puts  her  hands 

in  his. 

PRUDENCE  [earnestly].  We  didn't  think  it  could  be 
wrong,  good  Elder.  Mother  said  it  was  the  Lord's 
birthday,  and  we  couldn't  help  being  glad  about  that, 
could  we?  And  Mother  taught  us  a  song  about  it. 

ELDER  HOPKINS.  Then  will  you  sing  it  for  us,  little 
maids? 

[PRUDENCE   and   PATIENCE,    hand   in    hand, 
sing  their  carol  once  more,  while  MYLES 
and  ROGER  go  to  REUBEN  TURNER  and 
GERSHOM  PORTER  and  in  pantomime  apol- 
ogize and  shake  hands  with  them. 
MISTRESS  PORTER.     Good  friends,  these  little  maids 
and  their  song  do  touch  my  heart. 

TURNER.  Truly,  when  we  sought  to  bring  truth  and 
righteousness  to  the  new  land,  I  fear  we  were  forgetting 
charity. 

JARED.     Was  Christmas  like  this  in  Old  England? 
JANE.     My  Mother  would  never  tell  me  of  it. 
PRISCILLA.     I  would  it  were  so  here! 
PATIENCE.     Mother  made  the  tree  for  us,  but  we'd 
like  to  give  you  all  something  from  it.    May  we,  Mother? 
MOTHER.     We  will  gladly  share  it  if  the  good  Elder 
will  forgive  any  harm  we  may  have  done. 


i44  A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS 

ELDER  HOPKINS.  Mistress  Delight,  I  have  been 
thinking  that  perhaps  we  have  grown  over  hard  and 
stern. 

[Unhindered  now,  the  children  draw  close  to 

the  little  tree. 

DEACON  PORTER.  There  was  much  that  was  good  in 
the  old  ways,  after  all. 

ELDER  HOPKINS.  I  will  take  a  sprig  in  memory  of 
the  happy  Christmases  in  Old  England. 

MISTRESS  WELLS.     Perhaps  we  may  e'en  keep  what 
was  good  in  the  old  ways  here  in  this  New  England. 
I'll  take  a  bit  of  green,  too. 
ALL  THE  OTHERS.    And  I,  too.    And  I! 
MISTRESS    DELIGHT.     For    the    sake    of    the    happy 
Christmases  of  old,   and  the  homes  we  left,   and  more 
than  all  for  the  sake  of  the  very  first  Christmas  Day  of 
all,  let  us  sing  one  of  the  dear  old  carols  we  have  loved 
so  long. 

ELDER  HOPKINS.     Willingly,  Mistress  Delight. 

[All  sing  "  Come  Ye  Lofty"  *  and  while  sing- 
ing come  forward  and  take  bits  of  green 
from  the  Tree,  which  GILBERT  APPLETON, 
REUBEN  TURNER,  and  ROGER  cut  for 
them. 

CURTAIN 
*  See  note  on  Carols,  p.  316. 


Grown  people,  whose  parts  are  taken  by  boys  and  girls 
from  seventeen  to  twenty,  and  children,  are  dressed  alike 
— men  and  boys  in  knee-trousers,  coats  with  square  white 
collars  and  cuffs,  large  belt-  and  shoe-buckles,  broad- 
brimmed  felt  hats,  with  crowns  high  and  flat.  If  the 
costumes  are  to  be  fully  carried  out,  all  should  wear 
wigs,  cropped  round.  Or  they  may  be  worn  by  the 
Elders  only. 

Women  and  girls  wear  plain  dark-colored  dresses,  with 
rather  full  skirts,  the  children's  as  long  as  their  mothers'. 
White  kerchiefs,  capes,  and  hoods,  of  dark  colors  with 
bright  scarlet  or  gray-blue  linings.  The  hoods  are  large 
and  loose,  with  the  edge  turned  back,  giving  color  about 
the  face.  Mistress  Delight,  Patience,  and  Prudence  wear 
white  caps  instead  of  the  hoods. 

Pictures  of  Puritan  costumes  are  easily  found  in  the 
Perry  or  Brown  collections. 

These  costumes  are  best  made  of  canton  or  outing 
flannel.  Buckles  can  be  made  of  cardboard  and  covered 
with  silver  paper,  or  cut  from  tin. 

INDIAN.  Suit  made  of  tan  canton  flannel,  fringed  at 
edge  of  coat,  sleeves,  and  trousers,  with  a  band  of  fringe 
up  and  down  arms  and  legs.  He  wears  moccasins,  beads, 
and  a  feather  head-dress  on  his.  black  wig.  He  carries 
bow  and  arrows,  and  a  wooden  tomahawk.  A  quiver  can 
be  made  of  a  good-sized  mailing-tube.  He  must  have 
Indian  make-up. 

145 


I46  A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS 

HUNTER'S  dress  is  more  like  the  Indian's  than  like  the 
colonist's,  but  he  does  not  wear  his  hair  long,  and  his  suit 
should  be  trimmed  with  furs,  not  fringe.  Fur  cap  with 
tail  hanging  down  at  back.  He  carries  an  old  gun,  not 
a  bow. 

Mistress  Delight's  children  range  from  Roger,  twelve 
years  old,  down  to  little  Prudence,  five.  The  Indian  is 
a  boy  of  Roger's  age.  The  hunter,  sixteen  or  seventeen. 

The  little  Christmas  tree  should  be  a  very  "  home- 
made "  one.  Strings  of  popcorn  and  cranberries,  spools 
and  balls  covered  with  bright  paper,  may  be  used  for 
decorations,  Indian  baskets,  and  such  toys  as  the  little 
Puritans  might  have  made,  or  any  little  quaint  and  old- 
fashioned  trinkets  to  carry  out  this  idea.  Only  white 
candles  should  be  used,  and  these  fastened  on  in  the  sim- 
plest and  most  unobtrusive  manner. 

The  singing  of  the  old  psalm  should  be  made  as  doleful 
and  droning,  even  nasal,  as  possible.  It  can  be  sung  to 
the  Scotch  tune  of  "  Windsor,"  which  is  to  be  found  in 
most  hymn-books.  The  number  of  verses  used  may  be 
determined  by  the  amusement  and  applause  of  the  audi- 
ence. The  boys  who  sing  it  must  on  no  account  allow 
themselves  to  laugh. 

The  charm  and  picturesqueness  of  the  stage  will  be 
greatly  enhanced  if  quaint  old-time  household  articles  can 
be  borrowed  or  manufactured  for  properties — bellows, 
lantern,  candlesticks,  andirons,  an  old  foot-stove — above 
all,  a  warming-pan,  which  the  mother  fills  at  the  fire  and 
carries  out  when  she  takes  the  younger  children  to  bed. 
The  dishes  and  platter  so  much  admired  by  Patience 
should  be  rather  conspicuously  ugly. 

Finally,   a  word  in  regard   to  the  old-time  English. 


A  PURITAN  CHRISTMAS  147 

When  the  play  was  first  given  it  was  feared  that  the 
children  would  find  it  a  stumbling-block,  and  that  it 
would  have  to  be  dropped.  Quite  the  reverse  proved  to 
be  the  case,  however,  and  the  children  all  gave  their 
lines  with  delightful  naturalness  and  evident  enjoyment. 
This  has  been  equally  true  of  other  groups  of  children 
by  whom  the  play  has  since  been  given.  They  show  no 
awkwardness  in  the  use  of  the  old  forms,  but  seem  to  feel 
that  it  carries  them  out  of  the  everyday,  and  makes 
danger  and  adventure  real  to  them. 


THE    CHRISTMAS    MONKS 

IN  THREE  ACTS 


CHARACTERS 


THE  ABBOT 

FATHER  ANSELMUS 

FATHER  GREGORY 

FATHER  AMBROSE,  the  Leech 

FATHER  SEBASTIAN 

FATHER  FELIX 

FATHER  HILARION,  in  charge  of  the 

comic  toys 
THE  PRINCE. 
COURTIER. 
COURT  LADY. 
GEOFFREY,  ist  Page. 
HUMPHREY,  2nd  Page. 
PETER 

ROSALIA,  Peter's  Little  Sister 
GILBERT,  the  Carpenter's  Apprentice 
ROBIN,  the  Forester's  son 
WALTER,  the  Miller's  boy 
ANN  ETTA 
MARIANNA 
MISTRESS  SPINNING 
PEGGY  SPINNING 


The  Brethren  of 
the  Convent. 


Village  children. 


Village  mother  and  child. 


MISTRESS  LONGLANE  )  ~  ..  .,, 

„  J.  From  a  distant  village. 

DOLLY  LONGLANE       j 

PETER'S  FATHER. 
PETER'S  MOTHER. 


THE   CHRISTMAS   MONKS 

From  a  story  by  Mary  E.  Wilkins  Freeman.* 

ACT  I 

TIME  :  The  wth  of  April 

SCENE:  Country  road  leading  by  the  Convent.  R.,  an 
angle  of  the  Convent  Wall.  On  it  a  large  sign  trimmed 
with  evergreens,  "  Wanted,  by  the  Christmas  Monks,  two 
good  boys  to  assist  in  garden  work.  Applicants  will  be 
examined  by  FATHERS  ANSELMUS  and  GREGORY,  on 
April  8th,  Qth,  and  loth."  Enter  (R.)  MISTRESS  LONG- 
LANE  and  DOLLY,  wearily,  as  if  at  the  end  of  a  long 
journey.  MISTRESS  LONGLANE  carries  a  large  basket. 
DOLLY  hangs  back. 

MISTRESS  LONGLANE  [rather  crossly].  Now,  Dolly 
Longlane,  what  with  your  stopping  to  gather  flowers  by 
the  roadside,  or  to  watch  the  clouds,  or  to  listen  to  the 
birds  in  the  hedges,  we'll  never  reach  our  journey's  end. 
Make  haste,  now! 

DOLLY  [tearfully].  But,  Mother,  it's  such  a  long, 
long  way,  and  I'm  so  tired. 

MISTRESS  LONGLANE  [relenting'].  So  you  are,  poor 
lamb.  Well,  a  few  moments  can't  make  a  very  great 
difference,  so  sit  ye  down  on  the  basket  and  take  a  rest. 
[Puts  basket  down  (L.) ,  and  seats  DOLLY  on  it,  wipes 

•  By  permission  of  Mrs.  Freeman  and  of  Lothrop,  Lee  & 
Shepard  Company. 


152  THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS 

her  own  face,  straightens  her  bonnet,  and  then  looks 
about  her.  Sees  sign,  at  which  she  glances  indifferently, 
then  with  interest,  at  last  with  amazement.  Reads 
through,  then  takes  out  spectacles  and  reads  again.] 

MISTRESS  LONGLANE.  Now,  what  may  be  the  mean- 
ing of  this? 

DOLLY.     What  is  it,  Mother? 

MISTRESS  LONGLANE  [reads  sign  to  DOLLY].  The 
Christmas  Monks?  What  manner  of  men  are  the  Christ- 
mas Monks?  Here  comes  some  good  dame  from  the 
village.  I'll  make  bold  to  ask. 

[Enter  MISTRESS  SPINNING,  with  little 
PEGGY  (L.). 

MISTRESS  LONGLANE  [courtesying].  Good  morrow, 
Mistress.  Have  you  a  moment  to  spare  for  a  stranger  in 
the  country? 

MISTRESS  SPINNING  [courtesying~\.  Yes,  indeed, 
Mistress,  and  right  gladly.  Make  your  manners, 
Peggy. 

[PEGGY  courtesies  first  to  MISTRESS  LONG- 
LANE  and  then  to  DOLLY,  who  rises  from 
the  basket  and  courtesies,  too. 

MISTRESS  LONGLANE.  Why,  Mistress,  I  am  minded 
to  ask  the  meaning  of  this  strange  sign  that  hangs  upon 
the  wall. 

MISTRESS  SPINNING.  Oh,  you  must  indeed  be  a 
stranger  in  the  land  if  you  have  never  heard  of  the  Christ- 
mas Monks.  If  you  have  come  to  make  your  home  in 
our  village,  you'll  soon  learn,  I'll  warrant  me,  that  this 
is  the  home  of  the  Christmas  Monks  who  keep 
the  gardens  in  which  all  the  Christmas  toys  are 
grown. 

MISTRESS  LONGLANE.    The  Christmas  toys! 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS  153 

DOLLY.  Why,  I  thought  Santa  Claus  brought  them 
all. 

MISTRESS  SPINNING.  So  he  does,  my  dear.  He  takes 
them  to  the  children,  of  course,  but  this  is  the  garden 
where  he  comes  to  load  his  sleigh. 

MISTRESS  LONGLANE.    You  don't  say! 

PEGGY  [shaking  her  finger].  You  never  can  see  in- 
side, but  that  garden  is  just  full  of  toys.  Oh,  don't  you 
wish  we  could  peep  in!  [Both  children  run  in  search  of 
holes  or  cracks,  stretch  their  arms  towards  the  top,  and 
stand  on  tiptoe,  vainly,  finally  coming  back  to  listen  to 
the  conversation  of  their  mothers.] 

MISTRESS  SPINNING.  Yes,  the  Christmas  Monks 
have  a  wonderful  garden  with  beds  for  rocking-horses, 
beds  for  dolls,  beds  for  drums,  and  picture-books  and 
skates  and  balls.  They  do  say  so,  that  is;  of  course,  I've 
never  seen  the  inside.  And  the  seeds  are  just  the  tiniest 
bits  of  dolls  and  drums  and  balls,  and  the  rest  of  it. 
So  little  that  you  can  hardly  see  them  at  all. 

MISTRESS  LONGLANE.    What  do  the  Monks  do? 

MISTRESS  SPINNING.  Why,  they  plant  the  seeds,  and 
take  care  of  the  garden,  and  see  that  the  toys  are  all 
ripe  and  ready  for  good  old  Santa  Claus  by  Christmas 
time. 

PEGGY.  And  that's  not  all,  Mother.  They  have 
turkey  and  plum  pudding  every  day  in  the  year!  [Hugs 
herself.] 

DOLLY.     Oh,  my! 

PEGGY.  And  it  says  "  Merry  Christmas "  over  the 
gate. 

MISTRESS  SPINNING.  Yes,  and  every  morning  they 
file  into  the  chapel  and  sing  a  Christmas  carol,  and  every 
evening  they  ring  a  Christmas  chime. 


154  THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS 

PEGGY.  And  they  have  wax  candles  in  all  the  win- 
dows every  night. 

MISTRESS  LONGLANE.  Why,  it's  like  Christmas  every 
day  in  the  year! 

DOLLY.  Aren't  you  glad  we've  come  to  live  in  this 
village,  Mother?  [Clasps  her  hands.] 

MISTRESS  LONGLANE.  That  I  am,  my  dear. 
Why,  it's  enough  to  make  one  laugh  just  to  hear 
of  it. 

MISTRESS  SPINNING.  That  it  is,  Mistress.  You're 
quite  right.  The  Christmas  Monks  are  so  full  of  the 
Christmas  spirit  that  it  lasts  them  all  the  year  round, 
and  they  just  go  about  putting  heart  into  them  that  get 
sad  and  discouraged.  But  I  think  I  see  some  of  the 
children  coming  for  the  examination. 

MISTRESS  LONGLANE.  Ah!  Yes.  That's  to  take 
place  this  afternoon? 

MISTRESS  SPINNING.  Yes,  this  is  the  last  afternoon 
of  it.  The  good  Fathers  have  already  held  two  examina- 
tions and,  will  you  believe  it?  [Coming  closer  and  speak- 
ing very  impressively.]  They  haven't  found  two  boys 
who  are  good  enough  yet,  though  they've  examined  hun- 
dreds. 

[Enter  ANN  ETTA  and  MARIANNA,  talking  to- 
gether. 

ANNETTA.  Oh,  Marianna,  don't  you  wonder  whom 
the  good  Fathers  will  choose? 

MARIANNA.  Yes,  indeed,  I  do,  Annetta.  Why,  there 
aren't  very  many  more  boys  to  examine. 

ANNETTA.  No,  nearly  all  the  boys  in  the  kingdom 
have  tried. 

MARIANNA.  But  they're  all  naughty  in  some  way  or 
other. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS  155 

ANNETTA.  Oh,  don't  you  wish  it  was  two  girls  the 
Fathers  wanted? 

MARIANNA.  Oh,  don't  I!  Ssh!  Here  conies  Peter 
with  his  little  sister  Rosalia. 

[Enter  PETER  and  ROSALIA. 

PETER.     Here  are  some  flowers  I  picked  for  you,  sister. 

ROSALIA.     Thank  you,  Peter. 

PETER.  See,  sister,  that's  the  sign,  and  the  Monks 
come  right  here  to  examine  the  boys. 

ROSALIA.  Oh,  Peter,  I  wish  they'd  take  you  to  work 
in  the  Christmas  garden! 

PETER.  There  isn't  much  chance  of  that,  I'm  afraid. 
But,  come,  sister,  I'd  better  take  you  home.  You  might 
get  hurt  in  the  crowd.  [Exit  (L.),  PETER  bowing  po- 
litely as  he  passes  the  women.] 

ANNETTA.     Marianna,  why  wouldn't  Peter  try? 

MARIANNA.  He's  going  to  try  to-day,  I  believe.  He 
wouldn't  before  because  he  is  so  modest. 

ANNETTA.  But  he's  the  very  best  boy  in  the  vil- 
lage, and  so  good  to  his  parents  and  his  little  lame 
sister ! 

[Enter  GILBERT,  ROBIN,  and  WALTER;  all 
stand,  hands  in  pockets,  before  the  sign,  and 
read  it  in  silence. 

GILBERT.  I  wish  we  had  been  examined  yesterday.  I 
hate  not  to  know  about  it. 

ROBIN.  Well,  perhaps  we'll  have  a  better  chance  to- 
day. 

WALTER.  Yes,  there  aren't  so  many  of  us  to  choose 
from. 

GILBERT.  I  suppose  the  boys  that  get  in  there  can 
have  all  the  tops  and  balls  they  want. 

ROBIN.     Every  day  in  the  year. 


156  THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS 

WALTER.  Why,  all  you'd  have  to  do  would  be  to  pick 
them! 

MISTRESS  LONGLANE  [looking  out  L.].  Why,  what's 
this  coming  down  the  road? 

MISTRESS  SPINNING.  Why,  mercy  on  us,  'tis  the 
Prince.  He  must  be  coming  to  try  the  examination. 

CHILDREN  [in  hushed  voices,  crowding  to  see,  peeping 
over  each  other's  shoulders].  The  Prince!  The  Prince! 
The  Prince!  [Enter  COURTIER. 

COURTIER  [with  an  impatient  gesture].  Ssh — ssh — 
ssh!  Out  of  the  way  there!  Make  way  for  his  Royal 
Highness! 

[Stands  aside,  bowing.  Enter  PRINCE,  his 
cloak  held  by  two  pages,  followed  by  the 
COURT  LADY,  by  whom  the  COURTIER 
takes  his  place.  Villagers  fall  back,  cour- 
tesying  and  bowing.  PRINCE  stands  with 
folded  arms  and  haughty  air  reading  sign 
and  looking  about  him.  Pause. 

PRINCE.  Well,  I  see  no  Monks.  Am  I  to  be  kept 
waiting  here  all  day? 

COURTIER  [bowing  low].     Your  Highness,  the  hour 

set  has  not  yet 

PRINCE  [interrupting  angrily],  I  say  I  will  not  be 
kept  waiting.  What  will  my  father  the  king  say  when 
he  hears  I  have  been  kept  standing  in  the  highway  with 
a  rabble  of  common  peasant  children  ? 

COURT  LADY.  Oh,  your  Highness,  condescend  to 
have  a  little  patience! 

PRINCE  [more  angrily].  I  will  not  have  patience. 
Patience  is  not  a  virtue  for  Kings  and  Princes.  [Taps 
his  foot  on  the  ground] 

COURT  LADY   [nervously  looking  up  the  road].     Oh, 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS  157 

but   think   of   something   else — think   of — think  what   a 
pleasant  day  it  is! 

PRINCE  [scowling  prodigiously].  Pleasant  day,  in- 
deed! 

COURTIER.     Here  they  come,  your  Highness! 
COURT  LADY  [full  of  relief].     Oh,  yes!     Here  they 
come.    Here  they  come ! 

[Enter  FATHERS  ANSELMUS  and  GREGORY 
(R.),  followed  by  SEBASTIAN  and  FELIX; 
at  same  time  enter  PETER  (L.).  Monks 
walk  with  hands  clasped  before  them.  Vil- 
lagers all  doff  caps,  bow,  and  courtesy. 
Even  the  PRINCE  is  awed  into  respect.  The 
Fathers  look  about  smilingly. 

GREGORY.  Well,  well,  Brother  Anselmus,  there  seems 
quite  a  goodly  number  awaiting  us  to-day. 

ANSELM  [rubbing  his  hands].  Yes,  Brother  Gregory. 
I  trust  we  shall  discover  the  right  boys  at  last.  Let  me 
see.  [Looks  about,  aside.]  I  suppose  we  should  examine 
his  Royal  Highness  first? 

GREGORY.  Truly,  my  Brother.  Let  us  commit  no 
breach  of  etiquette. 

ANSELM.  Your  Highness!  [Monks  bow  very 
slightly.  PRINCE  and  attendants  advance  a  little.]  How 
old  are  you? 

COURTIER  [haughtily].  His  Royal  Highness  has  just 
completed  his  eleventh  year. 

GREGORY.  Indeed!  And  is  he  a  good  boy,  as  boys 
go? 

COURT  LADY.  "As  boys  go,"  indeed!  Why,  his 
Royal  Highness  is  not  to  be  mentioned  in  the  same  day 
with  common  boys! 

ANSELM.     Oh!    Then  you  are  not  like  other  boys? 


158  THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS 

COURTIER  and  COURT  LADY  [bowing  to  PRINCE].  A 
wonderful  child,  your  worships ! 

GREGORY.     Then  he  doesn't  often  do  anything  wrong? 

COURTIER.     Wrong?    Oh,  never,  your  worship! 

COURT  LADY.  He  never  did  a  wrong  thing  in  all  his 
sweet  life.  [Clasps  hands  and  casts  up  her  eyes.] 

ANSELM.     Is  he  diligent?    What  about  his  lessons? 

COURTIER.     He  doesn't  need  to  study. 

COURT  LADY.     A  most  brilliant  intellect! 

GREGORY.  Well,  well,  well,  Anselmus,  I  think  we 
must  try  this  paragon.  [They  put  their  heads  together.] 

GEOFFREY,  IST  PAGE.     He  just  smashes  his  toys! 

HUMPHREY,  2ND  PAGE.    And  he  beats  his  dogs! 

COURTIER  and  COURT  LADY.  Horrors!  [They  turn 
and  each  boxes  the  ear  of  the  nearest  page.] 

GEOFFREY.  And  when  he's  angry  he  kicks  and 
screams ! 

HUMPHREY.  And  he  won't  mind  even  the  King,  his 
father ! 

[COURTIER  and  COURT  LADY  each  clap  a  hand 
over  a  Page's  mouth. 

COURTIER  [aside  to  LADY].     Such  disrespect! 

COURT  LADY  [aside  to  COURTIER].  Such  indiscre- 
tion! 

ANSELM.  Your  Royal  Highness  is  accepted.  Now, 
Brother  Gregory,  we  will  continue  the  examination. 
First  boy ! 

[  The  PRINCE  and  his  train  fall  back  slightly. 
GILBERT  steps  forward. 

GREGORY.    Your  name? 

GILBERT.     Gilbert,  the  Carpenter's  apprentice. 

ANSELM.     Are  you  a  good  boy? 

GILBERT  [doubtfully].     I  guess  so,  sir. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS  159 

GREGORY.     Do  you  always  speak  the  truth,  Gilbert? 
GILBERT  [stammering],     W-w-w-well,  nearly  always. 
ANSELM.     Tut-tut-tut!     That  won't  do  at  all.     Al- 
ways speak  the  truth,  my  boy.     I  am  afraid  we  can't  take 
you.    Next. 

[GILBERT  steps  back,  hanging  his  head.    ROBIN 

comes  forward. 
GREGORY.     Name  ? 

ROBIN  [in  a  small,  frightened  voice],  Robin,  the 
Forester's  son. 

ANSELM.  Don't  be  afraid,  Robin.  So  you  are  the 
Forester's  son.  Ah-h!  Hum,  hum-m-m!  Are  you  kind 
to  animals,  Robin? 

ROBIN.  Oh,  yes,  sir.  My  father  teaches  me  to  be 
good  to  them  always. 

[GREGORY  bends  over  and  whispers  to  AN- 
SELM. 

ANSELM.  Robin,  answer  me  truthfully.  Did  you 
ever  rob  a  bird's  nest? 

[RoBiN    hangs   his   head  and  works   his   toes 

about. 

ANSELM.     Did  you  do  this? 
ROBIN  [rubbing  his  eyes].     Yes,  Father,  I  did. 
GREGORY.    Too  bad,  too  bad.     Now  I  am  sorry  to 
hear  this. 

ANSELM.     So  am  I,  Gregory,  but  you  see  it  won't  do! 
[ROBIN  goes  to  stand  by  GILBERT,  still  rub- 
bing his  eyes. 

GREGORY.  Next  boy.  [WALTER  steps  forward.] 
Name? 

WALTER.  I  am  Walter,  the  Miller's  boy,  and  I  help 
my  father  in  the  mill. 

ANSELM.     That  is  right,  Walter;  we  approve  of  that. 


160  THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS 

GREGORY.  You  are  diligent  in  the  mill.  How  about 
lessons  ? 

WALTER.     Well — I  go  to  school 

ANSELM.     Are  you  at  the  head  of  your  class? 

WALTER.     N-n-n-no,  sir. 

ANSELM.     Second,  then? 

WALTER.     N-n-no,  sir. 

GREGORY.  Well,  well,  where  are  you,  then?  At  the 
foot? 

WALTER.     Y-y-yes,  sir. 

ANSELM.  Tut-tut!  [Shakes  his  head.]  What  a 
pity!  Are  there  any  more  boys,  Gregory? 

[WALTER  crooks  his  elbow  over  his  eyes  and 
stands  by  ROBIN. 

GREGORY.     One  boy,  Brother  Anselmus. 

ANSELM.  Ah!  yes.  I  have  seen  this  boy  before,  I 
think.  Isn't  this  boy  named  Peter? 

PETER.     Yes,  sir. 

MISTRESS  SPINNING  [coming  suddenly  forward  and 
courtesying].  And  a  better  boy  never  lived,  your  rever- 
ence, if  you'll  excuse  me  for  mentioning  it. 

ANSELMUS.  Certainly,  Dame,  certainly.  We  shall 
be  very  glad  to  hear  what  you  know  about  Peter. 

MISTRESS  SPINNING.  It's  just  this  I  know,  sir.  He's 
a  good,  hard-working,  honest  boy,  sir,  and  very  obedient 
to  his  parents. 

PEGGY.     He  takes  good  care  of  his  little  sister 

MARIANNA.     And  he  never  teases  little  girls 

ANNETTA.  And  he's  at  the  head  of  his  class  in 
school 

GILBERT.     And  the  teacher  likes  him 

ROBIN.     So  do  all  the  boys 

WALTER.     So  does  everybody  in  town! 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS  161 

GREGORY.  Well,  well,  Brother  Anselmus,  it  does  seem 
as  if  we  had  found  a  good  boy  at  last,  doesn't  it? 

ANSELM.  Yes,  Brother  Gregory,  this  is  surely  the 
right  boy  for  us.  And  now  that  Peter  and  the  Prince 
are  accepted,  let  us  return  to  our  Convent  and  resume 
our  exercises  there.  Come,  boys. 

[Children  all  clap  loudly.  Monks  form  a  pro- 
cession, PETER  falls  in  behind,  and  the 
PRINCE  gives  his  hand  haughtily  to  be 
kissed  by  his  attendants,  then  struts  after. 
Exeunt,  the  Monks  chanting. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 

TlME:  One  week  before  Christmas. 

SCENE:  Inside  the  garden.  At  back,  the  wall.  Against 
it  (R.),  the  Doll  bed.  Left,  small  trees  with  toys.  Down 
Center  and  across  Front,  garden  paths.  PRINCE  and 
PETER  in  Monks'  robes  and  sandals.  PRINCE  sitting  idly 
on  a  wheelbarrow.  PETER  working  with  rake  in  the  Doll 
bed.  Tools,  watering  can,  etc.,  scattered  about. 

PRINCE  \_crossly~\.  Well,  I  don't  see  how  you  can 
stand  this  place,  Peter.  I've  had  more  than  enough — 
I'm  just  sick  of  it,  I  am. 

PETER  [still  working].     I'm  sorry,  your  Highness. 

PRINCE.  Yes,  that's  what  you  always  say.  I  wish  you 
would  stop  that  everlasting  work  and  come  here  and  tell 
me  why  you're  sorry?  Why  in  the  world  do  you  keep 
on  working  and  working?  I  believe  you  like  it.  Come 
here,  I  tell  you! 

[PETER  comes  forward  and  leans  on  rake  to 
talk  with  him. 

PETER.     Well,  your  Highness? 

PRINCE.  That's  right,  Peter.  Now  you  just  tell  me 
what  you  like  about  it  so  awfully  much. 

PETER.  Why,  your  Highness,  you  know  I'm  a  poor 
boy  and  I've  always  had  to  work.  This  is  such  pretty 
work — it's  just  like  play.  And  I  never  really  had  enough 
to  eat  until  I  came  here  to  live.  I  tell  you  it's  horrid  to 
be  hungry!  Then  the  good  Fathers  are  so  kind,  and  I 
love  the  Christmas  carols  and  the  chimes — why,  I  think 

162 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS  163 

it's  a  beautiful  place,  your  Highness.  Don't  you  like  to 
watch  the  toys  grow? 

PRINCE.  Oh,  they  grow  so  slow.  I  expected  to  have 
a  bushelful  of  new  toys  every  month,  and  not  one  have 
I  had  yet.  And  these  stingy  old  Monks  say  that  I  can 
only  have  my  usual  .Christmas  share,  anyway,  and  I 
mayn't  pick  them  myself,  either.  I  never  saw  such  a 
stupid  place  to  stay,  in  all  my  life.  I  want  to  have  my 
velvet  tunic  on  and  go  home  to  the  palace  and  ride  on 
my  white  pony  with  the  silver  tail,  and  hear  them  all 
tell  me  how  charming  I  am.  [His  words  become  nearly 
a  wail,  and  he  rubs  his  fists  in  his  eyes.] 

PETER  [patting  him  sympathetically  on  the  shoulder]. 
Never  mind,  your  Highness.  It's  pretty  nearly  Christmas 
now,  and  in  a  few  days  the  toys  will  be  ready  to  pick. 
Come  along,  and  I'll  help  you  to  water  those  tin  soldiers 
over  there — you  didn't  get  that  done,  did  you? 

PRINCE  [jumps  up  angrily  and  stamps  his  foot].  No, 
and  I  won't  do  it,  either.  As  for  you,  Peter,  you're  tame. 
If  you  had  a  grain  of  spirit  you'd  hate  it  just  as  much  as 
I  do.  There!  [Runs  off  angrily  (L.).  PETER  looks 
after  him,  shakes  his  head,  gathers  tools  together  neatly, 
takes  up  watering-can,  and  exit  (R.).  Enter  PRINCE.] 

PRINCE  [looking  after  PETER].  There  he  goes  now 
to  water  those  horrid  soldiers.  I'd  like  to  melt  them  all 
down  to  lumps  of  lead — I  would!  And  Peter — he's 
enough  to  drive  me  crazy.  I  won't  stay  here  a  bit  longer, 
so  I  won't.  I'll  get  that  ladder  out  of  the  tool  house 
and  get  over  the  wall  and  go  home.  [Starts  off.]  But 
I'll  take  some  Christmas  presents  with  me,  I  know! 
[Exit  (L.).  Enter  (R.)  SEBASTIAN,  FELIX,  ANSELM, 
and  GREGORY.] 

ANSELM.     Well,   Brethren,  we  have  every  cause  to 


164  THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS 

rejoice  in  the  fine  flourishing  condition  of  our 
garden.  Peter  has  kept  the  beds  wonderfully  clear  of 
weeds. 

GREGORY.  Yes,  and  I  think  I  may  say  that  our  gar- 
den has  never  been  so  fine  as  this  year.  It  was  a  happy 
day  for  us  when  we  found  Peter. 

FELIX.  Indeed  it  was.  How  neatly  he  keeps  the  gar- 
den paths  raked. 

ANSELM.     And  what  a  good  disposition  the  child  has! 

FELIX.     Always  ready  and  willing 

SEBASTIAN  [who  has  stood  at  one  side  with  folded  arms 
and  dejected  countenance].  Peter.  Peter.  Peter.  But 
what  of  the  Prince? 

ANSELM.  Alas,  yes.  You  are  right,  Brother  Sebas- 
tian. What  of  the  Prince? 

GREGORY.  Oh,  I'm  not  utterly  hopeless  of  the  Prince, 
my  Brethren. 

SEBASTIAN.     Brother  Gregory  is  always  over-hopeful. 

FELIX.  It  is  my  solemn  opinion,  Brethren,  that  the 
Prince  is  the  very  worst  boy  in  the  Kingdom. 

ANSELM.     Oh,  no,  Brother  Felix! 

SEBASTIAN.  I  say  he  is !  Think  of  the  first  day,  when 
we  gave  him  Noah's  ark  seed  to  sow,  and  he  went  into 
a  passion  because  it  wasn't  gold-watch  seed!  [The 
Monks  nod  regretfully.]  We  set  him  a  penance  to  kneel 
on  dried  pease  in  the  chapel  all  afternoon.  And  hasn't 
it  been  so  every  other  day  in  the  year  since? 

ANSELM  [soothingly].  Yes,  Brother  Sebastian,  I  fear 
it  has.  [Cheerfully.]  But,  then,  you  know,  this  has 
come  hardest  on  you — hasn't  it,  my  Brethren?  For,  you 
see,  the  Prince  exhausted  our  list  of  penances  so  soon  and 
you  have  had  to  remain  in  solitary  confinement  in  your 
cell  in  order  that  you  might  invent  new  penances  for  him. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS  165 

Hasn't  it  been  too  hard  for  poor  Brother  Sebastian, 
Brethren? 

GREGORY.  Yes,  yes,  poor  fellow,  he  looks  quite  thin 
and  worn. 

FELIX.  And  to  think  how  we  were  deceived  in  that 
boy!  How  his  people  praised  him! 

SEBASTIAN  [gloomily],  I  fear  his  Royal  relatives  are 
sadly  deceived  in  him. 

GREGORY.  But  let  us  think  of  pleasanter  subjects,  for 
I  have  hopes  that  the  softening  influences  of  the  Christmas 
season  will  do  great  things  for  our  misguided  young 
friend.  Let  us  give  our  minds  to  the  contemplation  of 
the  Doll  bed.  How  lovely  the  little  creatures  are ! 

FELIX.  And  how  they  will  delight  the  hearts  of  the 
little  girls. 

ANSELM.  Why,  why,  why,  what  is  this?  Here  is  a 
vacant  place! 

GREGORY.  Oh,  yes,  Brother,  that  doll  didn't  come  up. 
I  noticed  the  place  long  ago. 

FELIX.     And  so  did  I,  but  I  neglected  to  speak  of  it. 

GREGORY  [to  ANSELM,  who  continues  to  shake  his 
head  over  the  missing  doll].  Come,  come,  Brother,  let 
us  be  glad  that  such  cases  are  rare.  Now,  my  Brethren, 
we  will  go  on  with  our  inspection.  [  They  move  towards 
exit,  then,  looking  back,  discover  SEBASTIAN  still  in 
gloomy  revery.  FELIX  goes  back,  puts  an  arm  across  his 
shoulder,  and  guides  him  gently  after  the  others.] 

GREGORY.  Poor  fellow!  Poor  fellow!  [Exeunt 
slowly  (R.).  Enter  (L.)  ROSALIA.] 

ROSALIA  [looking  about  with  delight].  Oh,  the  lovely 
dollies.  .[Examines  them]  And  there  comes  Peter! 
[Enter  PETER  (R.).  ROSALIA  goes  to  meet  him.] 
Peter !  Peter ! 


166  THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS 

PETER  [amazed].  Oh,  you  darling!  How  in  the 
world  did  you  get  in  here? 

ROSALIA.  I  just  crept  in  behind  one  of  the  Monks. 
I  saw  him  going  along  the  street,  and  I  ran  after  him, 
and  when  he  opened  the  big  gates  I  just  crept  in.  Here 
I  am,  Peter! 

PETER  [worried].  Well,  I  don't  see  what  I  am  going 
to  do  with  you,  now  you  are  here.  I  can't  let  you  out 
again,  and  I  don't  know  whatever  the  Monks  would  say! 

ROSALIA.  Oh,  I  know!  I'll  stay  out  here  in  the  gar- 
den. I'll  sleep  in  one  of  those  beautiful  dolly-cradles 
over  there,  and  you  can  bring  me  something  to  eat. 

PETER.  But  the  Monks  come  out  very  often  to  look 
over  the  garden,  and  they'll  be  sure  to  find  you. 

ROSALIA.*  No,  I'll  hide.  Oh,  Peter,  see  that  place 
where  there  isn't  any  dolly? 

PETER.     Yes,  that  doll  didn't  come  up. 

ROSALIA.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I'll  just  stand 
here  in  her  place  and  nobody  can  tell  the  difference. 
[Steps  into  place  among  dolls.] 

PETER.  Well,  I  suppose  you  can  do  that.  [Looks  at 
her  and  shakes  his  head  anxiously.]  Of  course,  I'm  glad 
as  glad  can  be  to  see  you,  but  I'm  afraid  the  Monks 
wouldn't  like  it.  Now  I  must  go  and  put  away  my 
tools.  Be  very  quiet,  sister.  [Exit  PETER  (L.),  coming 
back  to  see  if  ROSALIA  is  safe.  Waves  his  hand  to  her. 
Exit.  A  pause  in  which  ROSALIA  looks  about  her,  feels 
the  curls  of  the  doll  next  her,  etc.,  etc.  Enter  PRINCE 
(L.),  carrying  small  ladder  twined  with  green,  and  a 
huge  basket  of  toys.  Goes  to  wall,  places  ladder,  tries  its 
firmness,  and  begins  to  climb,  finding  much  difficulty 
with  basket.  ROSALIA  watches  furtively  with  much  in- 
terest and  excitement.] 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS  167 

PRINCE  [at  top  of  wall~\.  Now,  if  I  can  just  get  down 
on  the  other  side.  [Works  cautiously  but  ineffectually  to 
get  the  basket  over.  Looks  over  wall  joyfully.]  Oh,  I 
see  some  of  my  father's  people  riding  by!  I'll  get  them 
to  help.  [Waves  hand  frantically.]  My  lord!  My 
lord!  Hither!  [Voices  beyond  wall:  "The  Prince!" 
"The  Prince!"  "His  Royal  Highness!"  "Make 
haste,  your  Highness!  have  a  care!"  At  which  the 
PRINCE  contrives  to  fall  over  the  wall,  dropping  the 
basket  inside.] 

PRINCE  [without].  Oh,  I'm  not  hurt!  Let  us  get 
away!  Hasten,  my  lords,  hasten!  [Voices  die  away  in 
the  distance.] 

ROSALIA  [horrified].  What  a  naughty  boy!  [Enter 
PETER  (L.).]  Oh,  Peter,  the  Prince  has  run  away. 

PETER  [hurriedly  examining  ladder,  etc.].  Run 
away?  [Mounts  ladder  and  looks  over  wall.]  He  surely 
has!  There  he  goes  on  the  horse  with  that  gentleman! 
[Watching,  thoughtfully.]  I  was  afraid  he  would  try 
that!  But  this  ladder  [getting  down]  has  always  been 
kept  locked  up.  Oh,  too  bad, — most  of  the  toys  are 
broken.  [Gathers  them  up  and  takes  ladder.]  Keep 
very  still,  sister.  I  must  put  these  away  and  tell  the 
Abbot  and  the  other  Fathers  what  has  happened.  [Exit 
(L.).  Enter  ANSELMUS  (R.)t  walking  up  and  down 
the  path,  hands  behind  him  in  deep  thought.  Takes  turn 
near  ROSALIA,  notices  her,  starts,  bends  down  to  look 
closer,  puts  on  spectacles,  and  gazes  with  astonishment.] 

ANSELM.  Why,  what  is  this!  Hoc  credam!  I 
thought  that  wax  doll  didn't  come  up.  Can  my  eyes  de- 
ceive me?  Non  verum  est!  There  is  a  doll  here — and 
what  a  doll!  On  crutches  and  in  poor  homely  gear! 
[Puts  out  a  hand  to  touch  her.] 


1 68  THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS 

ROSALIA  [starting].  Oh!  [ANSELM  starts  so  vio- 
lently that  his  wreath  falls  off  in  the  path.] 

ANSELM  [gasps,  trying  to  recover  himself].  It  is  a 
miracle!  The  little  girl  is  alive!  Parva  puella  viva  est. 
I  must  summon  the  Abbot  and  the  Brethren  at  once. 
We  will  pick  her  and  pay  her  the  honors  she  is  entitled 
to.  [Picks  up  wreath,  settles  it  distractedly  upon  his  headt 
and  hurries  to  path  (R-),  ivhere  he  motions  to  someone 
without.] 

ANSELM  [with  excitement].  Hilarion!  Brother  Hi- 
larion!  Hither!  [Enter  HILARION  in  hot  haste. 

HILARION  [panting].  Did  you  call,  Brother  An- 
selmus? 

ANSELM.  Summon  the  holy  Father  Abbot  at  once — 
say  to  him  that  it  is  a  matter  of  importance.  [Exit 
HILARION,  running.  ANSELMUS  returns  to  look  at 
ROSALIA  again,  muttering.]  A  matter  of  importance — a 
matter  of  importance.  [Enter  ABBOT  and  all  Monks. 

ABBOT.  At  the  wax  doll  bed,  did  you  say,  Hiiarion? 
Ah,  yes,  there  is  my  son  Anselmus. 

ANSELM  [coming  forward].  Most  holy  Abbot,  be- 
hold a  miracle.  Vide  miraculum!  Thou  wilt  remember 
that  there  was  one  wax  doll  planted  which  did  not  come 
up.  Behold!  in  its  place  I  have  found  this  doll  on 
crutches,  which  is — alive. 

MONKS.     Alive!    Strange!    Wonderful! 

ABBOT.  Alive,  did  you  say,  Anselmus!  Let  me  see 
her.  [ABBOT  bends  over  to  see  ROSALIA.  Monks  crowd 
around  to  see.] 

ABBOT   [rising].     Verum  est!     It  is  verily  a  miracle. 

HILARION.     Rather  a  lame  miracle. 

ABBOT  [reprovingly].  My  son,  I  fear  the  work  in 
which  you  have  been  engaged,  to  wit,  taking  charge  of 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS  169 

the  funny  picture-books  and  the  monkeys  and  jumping 
jacks,  has  rather  thrown  your  mind  off  its  level  of  so- 
briety, and  caused  in  you  a  tendency  to  make  frivolous 
remarks,  unbecoming  a  Monk. 

AMBROSE.  I  am  the  leech  of  the  Convent.  Let  me 
look  at  the  miracle,  most  holy  Abbot. 

[All  make  way  for  AMBROSE. 
ABBOT.     Gladly,  my  son  Ambrose. 
AMBROSE  [examining  ROSALIA'S  ankle}.     I  think  I  can 
cure  this  with  my  herbs  and  simples,  if  your  reverence 
wills  that  I  should  try. 

ABBOT  [doubtfully].  But  I  don't  know.  I  never 
heard  of  curing  a  miracle. 

AMBROSE.  If  it  is  not  lawful,  my  humble  power  will 
not  suffice  to  cure  it. 

ABBOT.  True.  We  will  take  her,  then,  and  thou  shalt 
exercise  thy  healing  art  upon  her.  [Takes  ROSALIA  up 
in  his  arms,  and  leads  the  way,  a  Monk  picking  up  the 
crutches.]  We  will  go  on  with  our  Christmas  devo- 
tions, for  which  we  should  now  feel  all  the  more  zeal. 

[Exit  Monks  (R.),  singing.  Enter  PETER, 
darting  to  place  where  ROSALIA  stood,  then 
to  look  after  the  Monks,  hands  clasped  in 
anxiety. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  III 

TIME:  Christmas  morning. 

SCENE  :  The  Convent  chapel,  decorated  with  Christmas 
greens,  candles,  etc.  A  picture  of  the  Madonna  and 
Child  wreathed  in  green.  On  a  dais  (back  Center),  in 
the  ABBOT'S  chair,  dressed  in  white  with  a  wreath  on 
her  head,  is  seated  little  ROSALIA.  She  sings  a  simple 
little  Christmas  hymn.  Enter  PETER,  with  an  air  of 
secrecy,  sitting  down  at  ROSALIA'S  feet. 

PETER.     Oh,  sister,  I  feel  so  miserable! 

ROSALIA.     Why,  Peter?     I  think  it  is  just  beautiful! 

PETER.  Oh,  yes,  of  course  it  is  beautiful,  and  that's 
the  very  worst  part  of  it.  I  mean,  you  know,  that  just 
because  it  is  so  beautiful,  and  the  good  Fathers  are  so 
very  dreadfully  kind,  that  I  feel  worse  than  ever.  Oh, 
dear!  I'm  not  saying  what  I  mean  a  bit,  sister,  but,  you 
see,  I  hate  not  to  tell  the  Fathers  the  truth  about  you, 
and  on  Christmas  day,  too.  You  know  they  think  that 
you  are  a  live  doll,  and  a  miracle,  and  you're  no  such 
thing.  You're  just  Peter's  little  sister,  aren't  you,  pet? 
And  they  have  been  so  kind,  and  Father  Ambrose  has 

made  your  poor  little  ankle  so  nice  and  well So  it 

makes  me   feel   horrid   to   think  we're   deceiving   them. 
Why,  it's  'most  as  bad  as  telling  a  story. 

ROSALIA  [patting  PETER'S  shoulder}.  Poor  Peter, 
I'm  so  sorry! 

PETER.     What  shall  we  do  about  it,  sister? 
170 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS  171 

ROSALIA.  Why,  Peter,  I'll  tell  them.  They're  all  so 
kind,  I  don't  think  they  will  be  cross. 

PETER.  Well,  sister,  I  don't  believe  they  will,  either. 
And  it's  Christmas  day,  so  I  want  to  be  sure  to  do  what 
is  right.  And  this  is  right — I  am  sure  of  that.  Now 
I  must  run  away;  they'll  be  coming  soon.  [Exit  PETER. 
Sound  of  Monks  singing  in  the  distance  grows  louder 
and  louder.  Enter  Monks,  ABBOT  leading,  each  bearing 
a  tray  full  of  toys  for  ROSALIA.  Half  the  Monks  march 
to  the  right,  half  to  the  left  of  her  chair.  Monks  hold 
out  their  presents  to  her.] 

ROSALIA.  Please,  I'm  not  a  miracle.  I'm  only  Peter's 
little  sister! 

FELIX,  AMBROSE,  and  SEBASTIAN.     Peter! 

ANSELM,  HILARION,  and  GREGORY.  Peter's  little 
sister ! 

ABBOT.  Peter?  The  Peter  who  works  in  our  gar- 
den? [Enter  PETER,  standing  unnoticed  by  door. 

ROSALIA.     Yes,  Peter's  little  sister. 

[Monks  turn,  each  looking  in  the  eyes  of  the 
one  nearest. 

GREGORY.  Surely,  here's  an  opportunity  for  a  whole 
convent  full  of  Monks  to  look  foolish. 

ANSELM.     Filing  up  in  procession 

AMBROSE.     With  our  hands  full  of  gifts 

SEBASTIAN.     To  offer  them  to  a  miracle 

FELIX.     And  then  to  find  out  that  this  miracle 

HILARION.  This  famous  miracle  is  nothing  but 
Peter's  little  sister!  [HiLARiON  doubles  up  with  laugh- 
ter, but  controls  himself  as  the  ABBOT  lifts  his  hand  for 
order.] 

ABBOT.  My  children,  harken  to  me.  Haven't  I  al- 
ways maintained  that  there  are  two  ways  of  looking  at 


172  THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS 

anything?  If  an  object  is  not  what  we  wish  it  to  be 
in  one  light,  let  us  see  if  there  is  not  some  other  light 
under  which  it  will  surely  meet  our  views.  This  dear 
little  girl  is  a  little  girl  and  not  a  doll,  that  is  true.  She 
did  not  come  up  in  the  place  of  the  wax  doll,  and  she 
is  not  a  miracle  in  that  light.  But  look  at  her  in  another 
light,  and  surely  she  is  a  miracle — do  you  not  see?  Look 
at  her,  the  darling  little  girl,  isn't  the  very  meaning  and 
sweetness  of  all  Christmas  in  her  loving,  trusting,  inno- 
cent little  face? 

MONKS.     Yes,  yes,  she  is  a  miracle,  a  miracle,  indeed! 
[Monks   come   forward  and  lay   the   toys  at 
her  feet.     PETER  fairly  hugs  himself  with 
joy. 

ABBOT.  And,  Peter?  Where  is  Peter? 
PETER  [coming  forward].  Here  I  am,  sir. 
ABBOT.  Peter,  we  feel  so  happy  this  beautiful  Christ- 
mas Day,  that  we  must  find  some  expression  for  our  joy 
— we  must  surely  find  a  way  to  share  such  happiness  with 
others.  Run,  my  son,  open  the  Convent  gates,  and  bid 
all  the  village  people  who  wait  there  for  our  usual  gifts 
to  enter  and  take  part  in  our  pleasure.  [Exit  PETER 
in  haste.]  Think,  my  children,  what  a  gift  we  have 
here  for  the  poor  parents  of  Peter  and  little  Rosalia — 
this  dear  little  girl  will  be  restored  to  them,  not  lame,  as 
she  was  when  she  wandered  here,  but  well  and  strong 
and  happy  like  other  little  ones.  Think  of  it,  my  chil- 
dren. 

[Enter  PETER,  leading  his  father  and  mother, 
who  hasten  to  ROSALIA,  kneeling  one  on 
each  side  of  her  great  chair.  The  rest  of 
the  villagers  of  Act  I  press  in,  and  stand 
grouped  at  each  side  of  the  stage. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS  173 

ABBOT.  Welcome,  welcome,  my  good  people!  A 
Merry  Christmas  to  you  all! 

VILLAGERS.     Merry  Christmas!     Merry  Christmas! 

[Amid  the  tumult  enter  the  two  PAGES.  They 
advance  to  the  ABBOT,  and  bowing,  present 
a  letter  with  large  seals. 

ABBOT.  How,  now!  What's  this?  [Breaking  seal 
and  reading  letter,  the  Monks  showing  deep  interest.] 
My  children,  we  have  here  a  message  from  His  Majesty, 
the  King.  He  tells  us  that  his  son,  the  Prince,  reached 
his  palace  in  safety,  and  that  he  has  come  to  feel  great 
regret  for  all  the  trouble  and  anxiety  he  caused  the 
Christmas  Monks.  He  hopes  that  the  Prince's  repent- 
ance, though  late,  will  help  to  season  our  Christmas  and 
make  it  a  happy  one.  And  his  Majesty  adds  that  he 
finds  great  improvement  in  his  son.  Well!  Well!  this 
does  indeed  add  yet  another  happiness  to  our  day.  [To 
the  people.]  And  I  know  you  all,  little  and  big,  are  just 
as  happy  as  we  are,  for  at  last  the  gates  are  open  to  the 
Convent  of  the  Christmas  Monks. 

[All  sing  a  Christmas  carol. 

CURTAIN 


NOTES  ON  COSTUME  AND  PRESENTATION 

(Mrs.  Freeman's  story  of  the  same  name,  from  which 
this  little  play  was  taken,  has  delightful  illustrations 
which  would  be  of  help  in  making  the  monks'  costumes. 
It  appeared  first  in  Wide  Awake,  Volume  16,  and  was 
later  published  in  a  collection  of  Mrs.  Freeman's  short 
stories,  entitled  "  The  Pot  of  Gold.") 

THE  ABBOT  (taken  by  an  adult),  and 

THE  BRETHREN  of  the  Convent  (boys,  sixteen  to 
eighteen)  wear  long  hooded  robes  made  of  white  canton 
flannel.  Greek  patterns  in  green  are  stenciled  at  hem 
of  skirt  and  around  the  wide  sleeves.  A  rope  of  ground 
pine,  or  other  Christmas  wreathing,  is  worn  for  a  girdle, 
ends  hanging,  and  the  tonsures  are  made  by  wearing 
close-fitting  skull-caps  of  flesh-colored  silk  or  sateen,  with 
a  wreath  of  green  at  the  edge. 

When  PETER  and  the  PRINCE  come  to  the  Garden  their 
dress  is  the  same,  but  their  Greek  borders  should  be 
smaller  and  they  wear  no  tonsures.  They  are  boys  of 
ten.  Hoods  of  all  are  worn  hanging,  except  that  of 
Brother  SEBASTIAN,  who  in  the  2nd  Act  goes  gloomily 
hooded.  All  wear  sandals  and  white  stockings. 

As  the  story  suggests  neither  country  nor  period,  there 
may  be  a  good  deal  of  latitude  in  the  matter  of  costumes 
for  the  rest  of  the  cast,  but  the  court  party  in  the  first 
act  should  be  as  resplendent  as  possible. 

THE  PRINCE.  Plumed  hat,  short  trousers,  slippers 
174 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS  175 

with  bows,  coat  with  broad  lace  collar  and  cuffs.  Very 
long  cloak,  borne  behind  him  by  the 

PAGES.  Dressed  alike  in  a  style  somewhat  resembling 
the  Prince. 

COURTIER.  The  same,  with  the  addition  of  a  short 
cape,  and  a  sword. 

COURT  LADY.  Dress  made  with  a  train  and  a  high 
beaded  collar.  The  boy  and  girl  playing  these  parts  are 
also  Peter's  Father  and  Mother  in  the  last  act. 

MISTRESS  LONGLANE  and  MISTRESS  SPINNING,  and 
the  little  Village  girls  wear  large  poke  bonnets,  old- 
fashioned  shawls  or  white  kerchiefs,  and  mitts. 

PETER.  Neat,  but  old  and  faded  blouse  and  knicker- 
bockers. Cap. 

LITTLE  ROSALIA.  Quaint  smocked  dress,  of  soft  blue, 
a  Persian  border  at  hem,  square  neck,  and  short  sleeves. 
(Or,  white,  with  blue  borders.)  Small  cap,  trimmed 
in  the  same  way.  She  is  lame  and  walks  with 
crutches. 

PETER'S  FATHER  and  MOTHER.  Poorly  and  roughly 
dressed. 

GILBERT,  the  Carpenter's  Apprentice.  Blue  denim 
apron.  Carries  T-square. 

ROBIN,  the  Forester's  Son.  Sleeveless  green  coat,  over 
a  white  shirt  with  full  sleeves;  full  trousers;  broad  felt 
hat,  turned  up  on  one  side  with  a  quill. 

WALTER,  the  Miller's  Son.  White  apron.  Dusty  felt 
hat. 

(If  preferred,  instead  of  using  the  above  suggestions 
for  costumes,  the  Randolph  Caldecott  pictures,  or  Kate 
Greenaway  illustrations  of  "  Mother  Goose,"  may  be 
adopted  as  a  scheme  for  dressing  all  but  the  Monks.) 


176  THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS 

The  entrance  and  exit  of  the  Monks  is  always  heralded 
by  their  singing.  Their  song  may  be  one  of  the  well- 
known  Christmas  carols  containing  a  few  Latin  words, 
but  a  Latin  chant  is  most  effective,  such  as  can  be  found 
in  the  little  Sunday-school  hymnals  of  the  Roman 
Catholic  Church.  Suggestions  for  ROSALIA'S  song  and 
the  carol  at  the  end  of  the  play  will  be  found  on  p.  315. 


SETTING 

For  the  Garden  wall,  a  frame  must  be  made  sufficiently 
strong  to  bear  the  weight  of  the  Prince,  and  may  need 
special  bracing  at  the  central  point  where  he  climbs  over. 
He  uses  a  small  ladder,  preferably  a  red-painted  one, 
like  those  in  children's  ladder-wagon  sets.  The  frame- 
work of  the  wall  may  be  covered  with  paper,  but  un- 
bleached muslin  is  much  more  substantial  and  lasting. 
On  this  is  painted  the  wall,  representing  either  brick  or 
stone,  with  a  stone  coping,  all  quaintly  stained  and  moss- 
grown.  It  is  five  or  six  feet  in  height. 

The  beds  where  the  toys  grow  are  outlined  in  green. 
Dolls  as  large  as  possible  should  be  used  in  the  back 
row,  in  order  to  prevent  the  contrast  with  little  Rosalia 
from  being  too  great.  Smaller  dolls  may  be  used  in  the 
front  rows.  The  number  depends  on  the  size  of  the 
stage  and  the  possibilities  for  borrowing.  They  may  be 
made  to  stand  with  wooden  braces,  but  it  will  be  found 
convenient  if  milliners'  stands  for  displaying  hats  can 
be  obtained,  as  they  are  light  and  can  be  easily  set  in 
place.  For  the  other  bed,  two  or  three  small  bare 
bushes,  on  the  branches  of  which  can  be  fastened  such 
toys  as  whips,  tin  trumpets,  etc.  Small  wheelbarrow, 
watering-pot,  and  other  garden  tools  scattered  about. 


THE  CHRISTMAS  MONKS  177 

For  the  last  scene,  the  walls  should  be  plain  and  dark 
in  color.  The  Abbot's  chair  is  large  and  ecclesiastical, 
and  Rosalia  looks,  in  it,  like  the  doll  for  which  the  Monks 
mistook  her.  Two  great  candles,  in  tall  candlesticks,  on 
the  dai's  beside  her,  are  effective.  No  other  furniture. 


THE    SPELL   OF    CHRISTMAS 

A  CHRISTMAS  PLAY,  IN  TWO  SCENES 


CHARACTERS 

SIR  GILBERT  UNDERBILL. 
LADY  KATHERINE  UNDERBILL. 
RUFUS    "^ 

>- Their  Children. 
CICELY     j 

ALLISON  j 

PHYLLIS,  their  orphan  niece. 

GILLIAN  )  0 

~  v  Servants. 

DICCON    j 

STEPHEN  ") 

ANDREW    V  Roundhead  soldiers. 

WAT        j 

SIR  PHILIP  |  Ancestors  of.  the  House  of  Underbill. 

LADY  GERALDINE  j 

WAITS,  who  sing  without. 

TIME:  In  the  reign  of  Charles  the  First. 
SCENE:  The  old  manor-house  of  the  Underbills. 


- 


ALLISON 
"Of  a  truth,  I  did  hear  their  voices" 


THE   SPELL  OF   CHRISTMAS 

SCENE  I 

A  chamber  or  corridor  in  the  Manor  House.  Door 
[L.].  Hangings  on  wall.  GILLIAN  seated  [R.],  with 
the  three  children  about  her,  all  working  at  wreaths  and 
garlands,  and  singing  an  old  carol.  Curtain  rises  on 
second  verse.  While  they  sing,  DiCCON  enters.  Takes 
up  sword  or  other  piece  of  armor  from  table  [L.]  and 
begins  to  polish  it. 

CICELY  [with  a  deep  sigh].  Good  Gillian,  methinks 
that  though  we  sang  our  carols  o'er  and  o'er  we  could 
not  make  it  seem  like  Christmas-tide.  Brother  Rufus  is 
gone  away,  and  we  may  not  even  say  we  miss  him.  I 
would  I  knew [Chin  on  hand.] 

GILLIAN.  You  would  you  knew  what,  little  mistress 
mine? 

CICELY.  I  would  I  knew  what  is  wrong  with  us. 
Christmas  was  ever  such  a  merry  season  in  this  dear 
house. 

RAPE  [wisely].  'Tis  because  my  father  goeth  about 
wearing  such  a  stern  face. 

ALLISON.     And  Mother  looketh  so  sad. 

CICELY  [confidentially].  And  I  think  cousin  Phyllis 
cries  in  her  chamber  sometimes. 

DICCON  [mutters].  Meseemeth  we  should  all  know 
right  well  what  aileth  this  place.  [Enter  SIR  GILBERT. 

181 


182  THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS 

Stands  in  doorway.]  When  he  that  was  the  very  life 
and  soul  is  missing  from  the  hearth 

GILLIAN.     Hist,  Diccon   [warning  gesture], 

DICCON.     and  more  than  that,  under  a  cloud 

GILLIAN.     Be  silent,  I  say,  Diccon. 

DICCON  [paying  no  heed],  'Tis  young  Master  Rufus 
this  house  needs  so  sorely,  I'm  thinking. 

SIR  GILBERT  [striding  forward  angrily].  Silence,  I 
say.  Have  I  not  given  command  that  my  son's  name 
shall  not  pass  the  lips  of  any  of  my  people?  I  will  be 
obeyed  in  mine  own  house.  Diccon,  hence!  Thou  canst 
spend  thy  days  in  the  stables  caring  for  my  horses,  an 
thou'lt  not  learn  to  bridle  thy  tongue.  Mayhap  the 
dumb  beasts  will  teach  thee  a  lesson. 

DICCON  [bowing  humbly].  I  crave  pardon,  Sir  Gil- 
bert. I  but  thought 

SIR  G.  Enough.  [Turns  to  table.  Exit  DICCON, 
with  an  awkward  bow.]  Gillian,  let  this  be  a  warning 
to  you  as  well.  I  have  laid  my  commands — I  will  be 
obeyed.  [Exit] 

RAPE.  'Tis  very  hard  to  be  just  children,  when  any- 
thing's  wrong,  I  think.  We  may  not  know  what  our 
elders  do  know,  and  yet  we  must  be  just  as  uncom- 
fortable. 

GILLIAN.  Tst-tst,  my  lambs!  Let  us  think  of  other 
things.  Shall  we  measure  our  garlands?  [Stretches  out 
her  green.] 

RAPE  [measuring  his  against  it,  while  CICELY  and 
ALLISON  stretch  theirs  together].  Indeed,  'tis  soon  done, 
good  Gillian.  We've  used  up  all  our  greens. 

GILLIAN  [rising].  I  will  see  if  Roger  and  Noll  have 
brought  more  for  us.  [Exit.] 

RAPE  [considering  his  garland].     Would  my  garland 


THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS  183 

measure  around  the  great  pasty  Dame  Joan  hath  made 
for  to-morrow's  feast,  think  you,  Cicely? 

CICELY  {laughing}.  The  venison  pasty,  Rafe?  May- 
hap when  Dame  Joan  hath  turned  her  back,  we  can  try 
and  see. 

ALLISON.  I  fear  mine  will  but  reach  around  a  very 
little  pudding!  [Enter  PHYLLIS.]  Oh,  cousin  Phyllis, 
cousin  Phyllis,  come  see  our  garlands! 

PHYLLIS  [coming  forward}.  Did  my  little  Allison 
wreathe  all  this  long  piece?  [ALLISON  nods  proudly.} 
That's  brave  work,  indeed. 

CICELY  [arms  around  PHYLLIS].  Dear  cousin  Phyl- 
lis, won't  you  stay  and  help  us — and  tell  us  why  everyone 
is  so  sad  ? 

PHYLLIS  [frightened}.  Nay,  dear,  I  must  not,  and 
you  must  not  be  sad — 'tis  Christmas  Eve. 

RAPE.  Yes,  we  know.  But  why  doth  my  father  look 
so  stern 

PHYLLIS.  Nay,  nay — I  may  not  speak  of  it.  My  aunt 
will  be  sore  displeased.  [Enter  LADY  KATHERINE. 

LADY  KATHERINE  [in  doorway}.  Phyllis,  why  art 
idling  here  with  the  children?  To  thy  tasks,  girl! 

[Exit. 

PHYLLIS  [turning  hastily  to  follow}.  You  see,  sweet- 
hearts, I  must  not  tarry.  But  I  wish  good  speed  to  your 
garlands.  Farewell.  [Exit.} 

CICELY.  Thou  dost  see,  Rafe.  Father  will  not  let 
us  speak  of  brother  Rufus,  and  Mother  is  so  cross  to 
poor  cousin  Phyllis. 

ALLISON  [shocked}.  Nay,  Cicely;  Mother  isn't  cross. 
It's  naughty  to  say  that. 

RAFE.  I  think  I  know  what  it  is  all  about.  [Very 
confidentially.  Girls  draw  their  chairs  close.}  I  think 


1 84  THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS 

brother  Rufus  ran  away  to  the  wars  to  fight  for  the 
King 

CICELY.  But,  Rafe,  that  can't  be  what  displeaseth 
Father,  for  Father  is  a  soldier,  too,  and  he  himself  will 
fight  for  our  lord  the  King,  if  so  be  the  King  needeth 
him. 

ALLISON  [nodding  her  head  with  conviction}.  Father 
is  the  most  gallantest  soldier  in  all  the  country. 

RAPE.  But  I  do  think  that  is  why  Father  is  so  angry 
with  brother  Rufus. 

CICELY.  And  why  is  Mother  so — so  unkind  to  poor 
cousin  Phyllis? 

RAPE  [very  solemnly].  Because — because  Rufus  did 
say  that  when  he  was  come  of  age  and  was  a  man  he 
would  marry  cousin  Phyllis! 

CICELY.  Oh!  But  /  think  that's  very,  very  nice! 
Why  doesn't  Mother  like  it,  Rafe?  They'd  never  go 
away  to  any  other  house  at  all — and  then,  beside, — Al- 
lison and  I  could  be  their  bride-maidens! 

[Enter  GILLIAN  with  an  armful  of  greens. 

GILLIAN  [sitting  down  among  them].  Here's  work 
for  us  all,  my  pets.  We  must  e'en  make  our  fingers  fly 
an  we  would  finish  our  task. 

CICELY  [full  of  importance].  Oh,  good  Gillian,  Rafe 
doth  say 

RAPE  [trying  to  repress  her}.  It's  no  use  to  ask  Gil- 
lian, Cicely.  Didst  not  hear  my  Father  tell  her  she 
mustn't  talk  of  it? 

GILLIAN.  That's  best,  Master  Rafe.  Let  Gillian  tell 
you  a  tale  whilst  we  work. 

ALLISON.  A  fairy-tale,  Gillian?  [Whispers  full  of 
awe.]  Are  the  fairies  about  to-night,  dear  Gillian? 

RAPE.     Not  on  Christmas  Eve,  Allison.    They  aren't, 


THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS  185 

are    they,    Gillian?     Midsummer    Eve    is    the    fairies' 
night. 

CICELY.     And  fairies  have  no  power  on  Christmas  Eve, 
and  witches  can't  charm  you,  nor  cast  their  spells  upon 


you 

RAPE.     Because  'tis  such  a  holy,  holy  night. 

GILLIAN.  Oh,  but  there  be  wonderful  things  that 
do  befall  on  Christmas  Eve,  Master  Rafe.  My  old 
grandam  used  to  say  that  when  the  midnight  bells  ring, 
the  cattle  in  the  stables  do  kneel  down  to  hail  the  holy 
day! 

CICELY.     Oh,  Gillian,  do  they? 

RAPE.  Hast  ever  seen  them,  Gillian?  Or  hath  thy 
grandam  ? 

ALLISON.  All  the  cows,  and  the  sheep,  and  the  little, 
little  lambs? 

GILLIAN.  Nay,  sweetheart,  I  never  saw  them,  but  I 
was  wont  to  think,  each  Christmas  Eve,  that  I  would 
surely  creep  out  to  the  stables  and  keep  watch. 

RAPE.     And  did  you? 

GILLIAN.  Oh,  Master  Rafe,  in  truth  'twas  a  pretty 
plan, — but  I  was  not  a  very  brave  little  wench, — and  it 
was  so  cold  and  dark  and  fearsome:  when  the  time  was 
come,  I  was  always  fain  to  put  it  off  until  the  next  year ! 

RAPE   [scornfully].     Sooth!    •!  would  never  do  that! 

GILLIAN.  Nay,  that  I'll  warrant,  Master  Rafe!  But 
let  me  tell  thee  what  else  my  grandam  hath  told  me. 
'Twas  about  the  portraits  in  the  long  gallery  in  this 
very  house. 

[Enter  DlCCON,  with  armful  of  wood  for  fire, 
which  he  piles  upon  the  hearth. 

CICELY.     The  portraits Oh,  yes,  Gillian.    [Draws 

close  to  GILLIAN.] 


186  THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS 

RAPE.  I  know.  Our  great-great-grandfather  and  our 
great-great-grandmother. 

CICELY.  Bethink  thee,  Rafe — what  are  their  names? 
I  do  forget. 

RAFE.  They  are  Sir  Philip  and  Lady  Geraldine 
Underhill.  And  they  lived  right  here  in  this  very 
house. 

DICCON  [turning  from  hearth].  Yes,  Master  Rafe, 
they  lived  in  this  house.  He  was  a  passing  gallant  gen- 
tleman, and  fought  for  the  King,  and  she  was  as  beau- 
tiful as  he  was  brave,  and  as  brave  as  she  was  beautiful. 
And  they  say  that  in  a  great  war  his  enemies  came  to 
search  this  house  for  him,  but  he  and  my  lady  hid  them- 
selves in  a  secret  chamber  that's  long  since  forgot.  But 
'tis  somewhere  in  the  house, — [looks  about  as  if  expecting 
to  find  door  at  once]  if  a  body  just  but  knew  how  to  find 
the  door 

GILLIAN  [in  contempt].  Nay,  nay,  Diccon.  I'll  war- 
rant me  the  Master  knoweth  where  that  door  is. 

DICCON.  Mayhap  Sir  Gilbert  doth  know.  But  none 
else  may  find  it.  Many's  the  time  the  lads  ha'  looked 
for  it — many's  the  time.  [Exit.] 

[RAFE  goes  about  for  a  moment,  lifting  hang- 
ings, etc.,  as  if  in  search  for  door,  but  re- 
turns to  GILLIAN'S  side  to  hear  her  answer 
to  CICELY. 

CICELY.  But,  Gillian,  what  was  it  thy  grandam  told 
about  the  portraits? 

GILLIAN.  Oh,  verily,  my  sweet.  Thinking  about  the 
secret  door  I  had  well-nigh  forgot.  My  grandam  said 
that  if  all  the  house  was  still  and  sleeping,  just  on  the 
stroke  of  twelve  every  Christmas  Eve,  Sir  Philip  and 
my  Lady  Geraldine  do  move  and  breathe,  step  forth  from 


THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS  187 

their  picture  frames,  clasp  hands,  and  move  together  in 
an  ancient  dance! 

RAPE.     Do  they? 

CICELY  and  ALLISON.  Oh-h-h!  [Drawing  near  to 
GILLIAN  with  a  little  delighted  shiver.] 

LADY  K.  [without].  Gillian,  Gillian!  Come  hither, 
wench;  I  need  thee. 

GILLIAN  Arising].  Anon,  my  lady!  [To  children.] 
Think  of  it,  bairns — that  fine  brave  gentleman  and  that 
beautiful  lady,  stepping  across  the  floors  in  the  moon- 
light   [Exit,  hand  lifted  as  if  holding  a  partner's, 

taking  stately  dancing  steps] 

CICELY.    Oh,  Rafe,  think'st  that  Gillian  speaketh  true? 

RAPE.  Yes,  I  do  believe  her.  Christmas  is  such  a 
marvelous  fair  time,  Cicely,  that  I  do  think  anything 
wonderful  might  happen. 

ALLISON.  I  would  I  could  see  Sir  Philip  and  Lady 
Geraldine  at  their  dancing. 

CICELY.  Oh,  so  do  I!  Rafe,  dost  think [Hesi- 
tates, afraid  to  speak  her  thought] 

RAPE  [boldly].  I  think — that  if  my  lord  and  my  lady 
do  dance — we  shall  see  them  this  very  Christmas  Eve. 

CICELY.     Oh,  Rafe,  what  dost  mean  us  to  do? 

RAPE.  When  the  great  doors  are  closed  at  eleven 
o'clock — I  always  hear  Diccon  making  them  fast — I'll 
sit  up  in  my  bed,  so  that  I  can't  by  mischance  fall  asleep. 
Then  I  will  wake  thee  and  Allison,  and  we  will  steal 
into  the  long  gallery  and  hide  ourselves. 

CICELY.  But  if  Sir  Philip  and  Lady  Geraldine  see 
us,  mayhap  they'll  be  displeased  and  not  come  forth. 

RAPE.  But  if  we  go  soon  enough  they  can't  see  us, 
because  they  don't  come  alive  until  twelve  o'clock.  Until 
the  clock  strikes,  they're  only  pictures,  Cicely. 


i88  THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS 

CICELY.     Verily,  I  did  forget. 

RAPE.  I  mean  to  make  sure  the  nursery  door  which 
giveth  on  the  back  passage  is  left  unlocked  and  open,  or 
mayhap  I  might  fail  to  hear.  Come,  sister,  bring  your 
Wreaths.  [Goes  toward  door.] 

CICELY  [gathering  up  wreaths].  Oh,  Rafe,  'tis  a 
wonderful  fine  plan! 

ALLISON.     Thou'lt  let  me  come  too,  Rafe? 

RAPE.  We'll  all  go.  S-sh-sh,  now,  not  a  whisper  to 
anyone.  [Exeunt  children  in  great  excitement.  Short 
pause.  Enter  RUFUS,  secretly  (L.),  stopping  to  look 
about  and  listen.  Crosses  furtively  to  door  (R.)  and 
looks  out.  Enter  PHYLLIS  (L.),  and  as  RUFUS  turns 
back  into  room,  she  sees  him,  and  with  a  low  cry  hurries 
to  meet  him.] 

PHYLLIS.     Oh,  Rufus,  Rufus — not  you! 

RUFUS.  Yes,  'tis  I,  fair  cousin.  I  prithee  speak 
softly.  I  would  not  have  it  known  as  yet  that  I  am  here. 

PHYLLIS.  But  whence  came  you,  Rufus?  We 
thought  you  miles  away,  with  the  King's  troops 

RUFUS.  My  company  made  a  secret  march,  across 
this  valley,  and  I  thought  to  spend  Christmas  in  mine 
own  dear  home.  My  Captain  gave  me  leave  to  come 
here  to-night,  and  join  him  to-morrow  eve.  But  after 
I  set  out  on  my  solitary  march,  a  company  of  Round- 
head rebels  sprang  up  from  a  copse  by  the  way  and  gave 
chase  to  our  men. 

PHYLLIS.     How  knew  you  this? 

RUFUS.  I  had  come  but  a  half-hour's  walk,  up  the 
long  hill,  and  saw  it  all  quite  plainly. 

PHYLLIS  [much  troubled].  But,  Rufus,  then  you  are 
cut  off  from  the  King's  men,  for  there  be  very  many 
rebels  and  few  loyal  hearts  about  us,  in  these  parts. 


THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS  189 

RUFUS.  I  know,  Phyllis.  And,  furthermore,  though 
I  would  not  alarm  thee,  I  must  tell  thee  that  I  was  seen 
by  that  treacherous  Farmer  Gosling  on  the  road  hither, 
and  I  fear  he  may  set  others  like  himself  upon  my 
track. 

PHYLLIS.  Oh,  Rufus,  you  frighten  me  so — they  will 
surely  come  and  take  you. 

RUFUS.  Aye,  they  will  try,  dear  cousin.  But  I've 
safe  harbor  in  my  father's  house,  and  when  darkness 
comes  I  can  put  forth  once  more  and  rejoin  our  men  in 
the  North. 

PHYLLIS.  A  safe  harbor,  saidst  thou!  Thou  little 
knowest Hark!  someone  comes.  Hide  thee  speed- 
ily, Rufus.  Here,  behind  this  curtain.  There — do  not 
show  thyself  until  I  see  thee  again.  [Hides  RUFUS  be- 
hind hanging,  and  exit  (R.).  Enter  SIR  GILBERT  and 
LADY  KATHERINE  (L.).  SIR  GILBERT  sits  moodily  in 
chair  by  fire.  LADY  KATHERINE  stands  before  him.] 

SIR  G.  [as  they  enter}.  I  tell  thee,  I  will  hear  no 
more  of  it. 

LADY  K.  But,  my  lord,  this  day  have  I  heard  a  rumor 
that  a  band  of  King's  men  were  near  us — here  in  this 
nest  of  rebel  enemies!  If  there  were  fighting — if  my  boy 
Rufus  were  in  danger,  and  I  might  not  succor  him, 
'twould  go  nigh  to  kill  me.  And  so,  my  lord,  I'm  come 
once  more  to  crave  pardon  for  him. 

SIR  G.  I  tell  thee,  it  will  not  be  granted  thee.  When 
the  boy  disobeyed  me  and  ran  away  I  disowned  him.  I 
vowed  he  should  never  enter  these  doors  again. 

LADY  K.  My  lord,  the  lad  was  so  eager  to  serve  his 
King. 

SIR  G.  [springs  up  and  paces  the  floor~\.  Did  I  forbid 
him  to  serve  his  King?  Nay,  when  the  time  was  come, 


igo  THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS 

he  should  have  gone  with  me,  with  horse  and  arms,  in 
state  befitting  a  gentleman's  son.  And  so  I  told  him. 
I  told  him  he  was  full  young  yet — the  lad  is  scarce  turned 
seventeen.  Eagerness  to  serve  his  King,  forsooth!  'Twas 
mere  idleness.  He  chose  to  run  away  from  his  tasks  and 
his  studies.  Beshrew  me!  Whether  he  find  the  camp 
life  of  a  common  soldier  a  bed  of  roses  or  no,  I  care  not. 
He  must  e'en  lie  in  it.  I'll  neither  grant  him  pardon, 
nor  receive  him  in  my  house.  To  consort  with  common 
soldiers  and  camp  ruffians — he  hath  disgraced  my  name. 

LADY  K.     Oh,  my  poor  lad. 

SIR  G.  Thou  and  Phyllis  need  not  grieve  so  fool- 
ishly  

LADY  K.  [stiffens  angrily],  Phyllis!  She  is  the  one 
reason  why  I  am  reconciled  to  his  being  away. 

SIR  G.  [more  gently].  Come,  good  wife,  be  not  so 
hard  upon  poor  Phyllis.  She's  a  good  maid  and  a  fair. 
What  if  the  lad  have  turned  her  head  a  bit?  I  would 
fain  have  thee  remember  the  lass  is  an  orphan  and  we 
her  only  kinsfolk. 

LADY  K.  [moving  away],  I  care  not  to  talk  of 
Phyllis.  [Turns  back.]  Will  nothing  move  you,  my 
lord? 

SIR  G.  [hardening],  I've  told  you  my  mind — let's 
hear  no  more  of  this.  [Exeunt  (L,).  RUFUS  comes 
from  hiding-place  and  stands  sadly  by  fire.  Enter 
PHYLLIS.] 

RUFUS  [turning  toward  her].  Why,  Phyllis,  I  little 
guessed  my  father  could  be  so  hard  and  stern.  I  knew  I 
had  displeased  him,  but  this  passeth  belief. 

PHYLLIS.  He  is  very  unforgiving.  When  you  called 
this  house  a  safe  harbor,  you  little  knew. 

RUFUS  [turning  as  if  to  go].     So  be  it,  then.     If  my 


THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS  191 

father  cannot  forgive  me, — I'll  e'en  forth  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  mine  enemies. 

PHYLLIS  [alarmed].  Oh,  no,  no,  Rufus!  At  least 
do  not  venture  forth  until  the  dark  hath  come!  No  one 
must  see  you  here.  Come  into  the  blue  guest  chamber. 
'Tis  not  a  secure  hiding-place  should  the  house  be 
searched,  but  'twill  serve  for  the  time,  and  by  midnight 
you  may  steal  away  safely.  Do  come,  Rufus!  [He  lets 
her  half  lead,  half  push  him  out  as  she  talks.  Exeunt 
(R.).  Pause Children's  laughter  heard.  En- 
ter (L.)  CICELY  with  a  bunch  of  raisins.  RAPE  in  pur- 
suit. They  run  all  about  the  stage.  CICELY  jumps  upon 
a  chair  and  holds  the  raisins  over  RAPE'S  head.  He  tries 
to  jump  for  them.] 

CICELY  [breaking  off  raisins  and  dropping  them  one 
at  a  time  into  RAPE'S  mouth}.  Oh,  Rafe,  such  rare 
sport!  You'll  have  no  need  to  waken  me.  I'll  never 
sleep  this  night,  I  know. 

ALLISON  [without,  calling].  Rafe,  Rafe!  Where  art 
thou?  Oh,  Cicely! 

RAPE  [pulling  CICELY  down  and  securing  raisins], 
Quick,  sister,  let's  hide  us!  [RAPE  runs  behind  hang- 
ings (R.),  CICELY  behind  table  (L.).  Enter  ALLISON 
(L.).  Stands  still  and  looks  about.] 

ALLISON  [softly].  Of  a  truth,  I  did  hear  their  voices. 
...  I  know.  .  .  .  'Tis  sport.  'Tis  a  game  of  hide  and 
hunt.  I  must  set  me  to  find  'em.  [Goes  peering  about. 
As  she  peeps  over  chair  (R.),  CICELY  runs  out  and  covers 
ALLISON'S  eyes  from  behind  with  her  hands.  RAPE  comes 
from  other  side  and  feeds  ALLISON  with  raisins.  RAPE 
and  CICELY  begin  to  sing  Christmas  carol,  and  ALLISON 
throws  off  CICELY'S  hands  and  joins  in  song.] 

CURTAIN 


SCENE  II 

A  gallery  in  the  Manor  House.  R.  front,  fireplace  * 
with  glowing  red  fire.  Beside  it,  at  right  angles,  settle. 
R.  back,  door.  Back  Center,  the  portraits  of  SIR  PHILIP 
and  LADY  GERALDINE,  in  tall  old  frames  reaching  down 
nearly  to  floor,  so  that  only  a  short  step  is  necessary  when 
the  figures  come  out.  L.  back,  window,  with  snow- 
covered  trees  in  distance,  and  moonlight.  L.  front,  door. 
Hangings,  a  few  quaint  chairs,  etc.  Center  of  stage  clear. 
Curtain  shows  empty  stage.  DiccoN  and  GILLIAN  cross 
from  L.  to  R.,  talking — GILLIAN  enters  first,  as  if  in 
haste,  DlCCON  trying  to  stop  her.  Stage  lights  very  dim. 
GILLIAN  carries  a  candle,  which  she  shades  with  her 
hand. 

DICCON  [calling  softly].  Gillian,  Gillian!  Hang  the 
wench!  Wilt  not  wait,  good  Gillian?  I've  somewhat 
of  great  import  to  tell  thee. 

GILLIAN  [impatiently].  Were  I  to  believe  thee, 
Master  Diccon,  all  thine  affairs  are  of  great  matter. 
Mayhap  thou  thinkest  my  business  is  ever  of  small  con- 
sequence ? 

DICCON.  Nay,  then,  Gillian — but  this  news  is  thine 
and  mine  and  my  lord's  and  my  lady's  too! 

[GiLLiAN  turns,  a  little  curious,  and  waits  for 
him. 

*  See  note  on  Fireplace,  p.  313. 
192 


THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS  193 

GILLIAN  [scornfully'].  A  strange  matter,  methinks, 
that  can  be  thine  and  mine  and  theirs,  too! 

DICCON.  But  list  a  moment,  and  you  shall  hear. 
Giles,  the  horse-boy,  hath  been  in  the  village  this  day, 
and  heard  that  which  bodes  ill  to  us.  Giles  heard  them 
talking  in  the  tavern 

GILLIAN.  Heard  whom  talking,  Diccon?  I  can  make 
naught  of  thy  twisting  tales ! 

DICCON.  Why,  the  Roundhead  knaves,  be  sure.  And 
the  pith  and  kernel  of  Giles'  tale — an  thou'lt  not  hear 
the  how  and  the  when — is  this!  that  they  mean  to  come 
hither  this  night  and  search  our  house. 

GILLIAN  [gives  a  little  scream  and  claps  her  hand  over 
her  mouth].  Oh,  Diccon,  Diccon, — what  can  they  want 
h^re?  We  be  peaceful  folk.  In  sooth  'tis  known  we 
are  all  good  King's  men,  but  no  harm  have  we  done  to 
any!  Oh,  Diccon! 

\)ICCON.  Sst!  silly  wench!  They'll  not  harm  thee. 
But  hark  to  what  else  Giles  heard.  They  be  coming  to 
search  for  Master  Rufus! 

GILLIAN.  Master  Rufus !  But  he  hath  not  been  here 
these  many  weeks. 

DICCON.  Sst!  Speak  more  cautiously,  Gillian.  The 
knaves  did  say  they  have  certain  knowledge  that  Master 
Rufus  is  here  in  hiding. 

GILLIAN  [looking  fearfully  and  suspiciously  about], 
Oh,  Diccon,  dost  believe  it? 

DICCON.  In  good  sooth,  how  can  I  tell?  But  I  am 
in  great  fear. 

GILLIAN.  Thou  afeard,  Diccon?  Oh,  what  dost 
think  the  Roundhead  villains  will  do  to  us? 

DICCON  [angrily].  A  pest  upon  thee,  wench! 
They'll  do  naught  to  us!  'Tis  for  my  young  master  I 


194  THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS 

am  troubled.     If  they  take  him,  'tis  doubtless  to  a  rebel 

prison  he'll  go,  and  then — it's  rough  fare  for  such  a  young 

lad, — and  gentle  born  and  bred  to  boot. 

GILLIAN  [curiously].     But  can  he  be  here,  think  you, 

Diccon  ? 

DICCON  [anxiously].     He  may  be.    And  I  do  fear  to 

ask  my  lord  or  my  lady  of  the  matter.     [Going  towards 
I  would  I  knew  my  duty,  Gillian. 

[Exeunt  (R.).  After  a  moment  enter  (L.) 
the  three  children  in  nightgowns,  the  little 
girls  in  caps,  also.  They  do  not  speak,  but 
motion  to  each  other  excitedly,  and  run 
about,  choosing  a  fit  hiding-place.  AL- 
LISON takes  a  small  stool  and  plants  it 
directly  in  front  of  portraits,  sits  down, 
and  folds  her  hands  to  wait.  The  others, 
consulting  by  signs,  do  not  at  first  see  her, 
then  rush  upon  her  in  alarm  and  drag  her 
away,  taking  stool  with  them,  and  making 
reproving  gestures.  All  go  to  settle,  place 
stool  by  fire,  and  allow  ALLISON  to  sit  on 
it.  CICELY  kneels  at  end  of  settle,  partly 
concealed  by  its  arm.  RAPE  lies  full 
length  upon  it,  alternately  ducking  below 
arm  and  peeping  over  it.  They  shake  fin- 
gers at  each  other,  touch  lips  to  insure  si- 
lence, and  when  ALLISON  turns  as  if  to 
speak,  CICELY  claps  a  quiet  hand  over  her 
mouth.  Business  of  settling  into  place. 
When  there  has  been  a  moment's  pause,  a 
bell  is  heard  in  the  distance  striking  mid- 
night. The  portraits  slowly  turn  their 
heads,  take  a  long  and  deep  breath,  and 


THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS  195 

begin  to  move;  soft  music  is  heard  (min- 
uet, from  Mozart's  "Don  Giovanni"); 
they  bend  forward,  step  with  one  foot  from 
the  frames  and  clasp  hands  across  the  space 
between;  then  step  forth  entirely,  and  bow 
and  courtesy  low  and  slowly  to  each  other. 
Then  they  take  hands,  and  to  the  music 
go  through  such  part  of  the  old  French 
minuet  as  is  practicable  for  two  alone. 
When  this  has  continued  as  long  as  is  de- 
sirable, there  is  a  sudden  noise  without. 
Instantly  the  music  ceases  and  the  figures 
go  back  with  all  swiftness  and  resume 
pose  in  frames.  Children  also  much 
startled. 

CICELY  [in  alarmed  whisper].     Oh,   Rafe,  what  was 
that? 

RAPE.     I  don't  know.     Sh-sh-sh! 

[Enter  RUFUS  (R.),  silently  and  furtively. 
Goes  to  window  and  peers  out.  Comes 
back  hurriedly  and  without  seeing  children. 
Exit  (R.).  RAPE  springs  up  and  follows 
to  door,  gazing  out  after  RUFUS. 

CICELY    [aloud,   but   still   cautious,    though    in   great 
fright}.     Oh,  Rafe — I  saw  a  man!     Who  was  that? 

ALLISON.     So  did  I,  sister!     Let's  run! 

CICELY.     Mother!     Mother!     I'm  frightened! 

ALLISON.     Oh,  Gillian,  come  get  us! 

[Both  rush  screaming  out  of  door  (L.).  RAPE 
comes  quickly  and  silently  back.  Goes  to 
window  and  stands  peering  out. 

RAPE.     That  was  brother  Rufus.     I  wonder  how  he 
came  hither.  .   ,   .  And  there  is  someone  ,   .   .  away  out 


196  THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS 

there  in  the  snow  .  .  .  men  .  .  .  coming  this  way. 
[Leaves  window  and  stands  directly  in  front  of  portraits, 
with  his  back  to  them,  and  a  little  way  off.  Stares  anx- 
iously straight  before  him,  and  speaks  low  and  quietly.] 
Perhaps  they  are  soldiers  ...  or  wicked  people  come  to 
seek  for  him  and  take  him  away.  .  .  .  Rufus  went  up 
the  little  stairs  to  the  Tower.  .  .  .  There's  no  place  to 
hide  in  the  Tower!  [His  voice  gradually  rising.] 
They'll  find  him  as  soon  as  they  get  here.  .  .  .  Oh,  what 
shall  I  do — what  shall  I  do?  [Stands  with  hands 
clenched,  listening  and  thinking,  wide-eyed.  The  por- 
traits move  and  bend  toward  him.] 

LADY  GERALDINE  [leaning  forward  and  smiling  ten- 
derly]. Little  Rafe,  little  Rafe,  thou  must  play  the  man 
this  night! 

SIR  PHILIP  [leaning  forward  and  speaking  earnestly]. 
Little  lad,  little  lad,  thou  art  little  and  young!  Go  and 
fetch  thy  father! 

RAFE  [does  not  turn  at  all].  My  father  will  know 
what  to  do.  .  .  .  Mayhap  he  will  even  open  the  secret 
door  Gillian  telleth  of.  ...  Surely,  surely  he  cannot  be 
angry  now.  [Turns  and  rushes  wildly  out  (R.)]. 

[Enter  PHYLLIS  (R.),  all  shaking  and  trem- 
bling. 

PHYLLIS  [calls  softly].  Rufus!  Rufus!  Where  art 
thou?  [To  herself.]  Oh,  where  can  the  rash  boy  have 
gone?  He  was  safe  for  the  time  in  the  Blue  Chamber. 

And  now Oh,  what  can  I  do!     I  must  warn  him! 

[Wrings  her  hands  and  goes  to  window.]  GILLIAN  hath 
told  me  they  are  coming  to  seek  him.  He  must  be 
warned!  Oh,  where  can  he  have  gone?  [Goes  to  door 
(L.),  then  to  window  once  more.  Enter  RAFE,  drag- 
ging SIR  GILBERT  by  the  hand.] 


THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS  197 

RAPE  [breathless].  You  needs  must  listen,  Father! 
Brother  Rufus  came  in  at  this  door  and  went  to  the 
window,  softly,  to  peep  out.  Then  he  ran  out  again  and 
I  got  me  up  speedily  and  ran  to  the  casement.  [Tries 
to  draw  SIR  GILBERT  to  window,  but  he  resists  and 
stands  frowning  (R.  Center).]  And  I  looked  out,  Fa- 
ther, and  there  was  someone  coming — men — away  over  to- 
ward the  village.  I  saw  them.  And  Rufus  is  gone  up 

the  Tower  stairs [PHYLLIS  starts  forward  to  door, 

but  turns  back.] 

PHYLLIS.     The  Tower,  saidst  thou,  Rafe? 

RAPE.  Yes!  The  Tower!  And  thou  knowest,  Fa- 
ther, there  is  no  way  of  escape  from  the  Tower!  Father, 
tell  us  what  to  do! 

PHYLLIS  [coming  to  his  side  with  clasped  hands]. 
Oh,  good  Uncle,  save  him  while  there  is  yet  time! 

RAPE.     I  know  thou  canst  find  a  way,  Father ! 

[Enter  LADY  KATHERINE,  the  two  little  girls 
clinging  to  her  skirts. 

LADY  K.  [in  amazement].  What  can  be  the  meaning 
of  all  this  coil?  The  children  crying  to  me  in  fright 
some  old  wives'  tale  about  the  family  portraits — someone 

in  the  gallery — the  soldiers My  poor  wits  cannot 

fathom  it! 

RAPE  [still  clinging  to  his  father's  hand].  Oh,  lady 
Mother,  Rufus  is  hiding  in  the  Tower,  and  the  soldiers 
are  coming,  and  Father  must  save  him! 

LADY  K.  [cries  out].  Rufus,  saidst  thou?  [Shakes 
off  the  children  and  hurries  toward  RAPE.]  Where  is 
he,  boy? 

RAPE  [seizes  her  hand  and  draws  her  to  door  (L.)]. 
Here,  Mother,  here,  up  in  the  Tower.  [Exeunt. 
CICELY  and  ALLISON  cling  together.] 


198  THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS 

CICELY.  Oh,  Allison,  sweet  sister,  it  was  brother 
Rufus  we  did  see  in  the  gallery.  And  the  Roundhead 
soldiers  are  coming. 

ALLISON.     Will  they  drag  him  away  from  here? 
PHYLLIS.     Oh,  Uncle,  dear  Uncle,  surely  thou  know- 
est  some  secret  place  in  this  old  house  where  he  can  lie 
safe  until  danger  be  past? 

[Enter  RAPE  and  LADY  KATHERINE  with 
RUFUS  (R.).  LADY  KATHERINE  hastens 
to  window,  glances  out,  then  goes  to  quiet 
children,  who  are  sobbing.  RAPE  rushes 
to  his  father,  and  RUFUS  at  first  starts  to 
him. 
RAPE.  Father,  here  he  is.  Now  what's  to  do? 

RUFUS.     Father,  I  would 

SIR  G.  [interrupting].  Not  a  word  from  you,  sirrah! 
How  dare  you  enter  this  house  whence  you  went  but  to 
disgrace  my  name?  You  are  no  son  of  mine! 

[RUFUS  draws  back  and  stands  proudly  a  little 

aloof.     The  rest  cry  out  in  protest. 
LADY  K.     Oh,  my  lord,  you  cannot  mean  the  words 
you  speak! 

PHYLLIS.     Uncle ! 
RAPE.     Oh,  Father,  poor  Rufus! 
DICCON      [without].     Sir     Gilbert!       Sir     Gilbert! 
Where  art  thou,  master! 

GILLIAN    [without].     Oh,   mistress!     Oh,   my  lady! 
[Enter  DICCON  and  GILLIAN  in  greatest  ex- 
citement.   DICCON  carries  a  pair  of  candles, 
which   he   places   hastily    on    the   chimney- 
piece.    Raise  lights. 

DICCON.  My  lord,  the  soldiers  are  coming!  [Rushes 
to  window.]  They  be  at  our  very  gates! 


THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS  199 

GILLIAN.  Oh,  mistress,  the  murthering  knaves  will 
burn  the  house  above  our  heads! 

LADY  K.     Hold  thy  peace,  silly  wench ! 

[General  hubbub.  Children  cling  crying  to 
their  mother.  DICCON  and  GILLIAN  at 
window.  RAPE  now  running  to  window, 
now  tugging  at  his  father's  hand.  PHYL- 
LIS at  his  other  side. 

DICCON.     They  come  down  the  long  hill! 

GILLIAN.     I  see  them,  the  knaves! 

PHYLLIS.  Oh,  Uncle,  prythee  forgive  Rufus — save 
him  quickly! 

SIR  G.  [angrily].     He  doth  not  desire  forgiveness. 

PHYLLIS.  Oh,  Uncle,  he  would  have  asked  it  but 
now.  Thy  bitter  words  did  check  him,  and  thou  knowest 
he  is  proud.  He  could  not  ask  it  then. 

GILLIAN.     Here  they  be! 

DICCON.     At  our  very  gates! 

LADY  K.  [above  noise}.  My  lord,  thou  dost  know 
some  secret  place.  Do  but  disclose  it  to  me.  Remember 
he  is  thine  own  flesh  and  blood. 

DICCON.  Hark,  ye  can  hear  them!  [Silence  falls. 
In  the  distance  the  carol  of  the  WAITS  is  heard.} 

PHYLLIS  [relieved].     'Tis  the  waits  at  their  carols. 

LADY  K.  [thankfully].  'Tis  not  the  soldiers,  after 
all! 

DICCON  [turning  from  window}.  Would  it  were  not, 
my  lady!  Ye  do  hear  the  waits  singing  beneath  the  hall 
windows,  'tis  true,  but  these  at  our  gates  be  no  peaceful 
carollers.  [Turns  back  to  window.  All  are  silent  for  a 
moment,  listening,  until  the  refrain  of  "  Peace  on  earth  " 
is  reached.] 

SIR   G.    [startled].     "Peace   on   earth,   good   will    to 


200  THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS 

men!"     Now  Heaven  forgive  my  angry  spirit!     Here, 

Rufus — quick,  lad!     [Touches  spring  at  R.  of  portrait. 

Panel  opens,  and  SIR  GILBERT  thrusts  RUFUS  through, 

and  it  closes  behind  him.     SIR  GILBERT  turns  and  takes 

command.'}    Clear  the  room — this  throng  will  never  do — • 

guilt    and    suspicion    sit   upon    our   very    faces.      Wife, 

Phyllis!    take   these   children    to   bed.      Gillian!    to    the 

kitchen,  wench,   and  do  all  in  thy  power  to  quiet  the 

maidens  there.     Hasten  to  the  gate,  Diccon,  and  say  that 

your  master  throws  open  his  doors  to  their  search.     Bear 

yourselves,  all,  as  if  nothing  had  befallen!    Now,  haste! 

[Rapid  clearing  of  the  room.     LADY  KATH- 

ERINE    and   PHYLLIS    hurry   the    children 

out   (L.),  trying  to   quiet  them.     Exeunt 

DICCON  and  GILLIAN  by  the  door  (R.). 

Unnoticed,  RAFE  springs  into  box  of  settle, 

and  closes   lid   over   him.      When  all   are 

gone,  SIR  GILBERT  goes  quietly  about  room 

to  put  all  in  order.    Looks  out  at  window. 

Sounds  from  without,  of  beating  on  doors, 

etc.    Cries,  "  Down  with  the  false  King?" 

"Death  to  traitors!"  etc.     SIR  GILBERT 

goes  to  panel  for  a  moment. 

SlR  G.  [tapping}.     Rufus!     Rufus! 

RUFUS  {within}.     Yes,  Father! 

SIR  G.     Cheerly,  good  lad!    Lie  thou  quiet,  no  harm 

shall  come  to  thee.     [SlR  GILBERT  goes  /*»  chimney,  takes 

an   old  book  from  shelf,  and  sits  on  settle.     Noises  of 

search  gradually  come  nearer.    Enter  DICCON,  followed 

by  soldiers.} 

DlCCON  [torn  between  his  fear  <ind  hatred  of  the  sol- 
diers and  his  wish  to  propitiate  them}.  Here  is  my  lord, 
your  masterships!  He  bade  me  give  you  free  welcome 


THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS  201 

[bows  politely,  but  as  they  pass  him  he  snarls  aside],  and 
a  pest  upon  all  of  ye! 

SIR  G.  What  would  you  of  me,  my  men?  Why, 
Diccon,  these  be  all  old  neighbors — not  soldiers. 

[  The  men  are  disconcerted,  and  advance  awk- 
wardly, pulling  at  their  forelocks. 

STEPHEN.  Yes — Sir  Gilbert — no,  Sir  Gilbert — we  be 
verily  soldiers — soldiers  of  the  Parliament. 

SIR  G.  You  have  taken  up  arms  against  your  King? 
I  had  thought  to  see  old  neighbors  and  friends  and  loyal 
men.  [Rises,  laying  down  book.] 

STEPHEN.     We  do  be  loyal  men 

ANDREW.     Loyal  to  the  Parliament. 

WAT.     And  soldiers  of  Cromwell. 

SIR  G.  What,  then,  would  you  of  me?  Ye  do  know 
I  am  a  subject  of  King  Charles. 

STEPHEN.  My  lord,  we  have  orders  to  search  this 
house. 

SIR  G.  So  be  it,  then.  Obey  your  orders.  What  do 
ye  look  to  find  here? 

ANDREW.     Tis  a  false  traitor  Cavalier. 

WAT.  He  lurketh  here  and  we  mean  to  have  him, 
too. 

STEPHEN.  We  would  do  our  work  peaceably,  my 
lord.  But  our  general  must  have  the  country  cleared  of 
all  Malignants. 

SIR  G.  You  have  my  free  consent.  My  house 
is  open  to  you  from  turret's  peak  to  the  bins  in  the 
cellar. 

DICCON.  There  be  more  of  'em,  my  lord — a  round 
dozen.  And  they  waited  not  thy  permission.  They  be 
already  both  on  tower  and  in  bins. 

SIR  G.     Disturb  them  not,  good  Diccon.     [Turns  back 


202  THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS 

to  settle,  takes  up  book  and  pretends  to  read,  but  keeps 
a  careful  eye  on  soldiers.] 

STEPHEN.     Do  your  work  with  thoroughness,  men. 
ANDREW.     That  will  we,  captain! 
WAT.     There  be  many  lurking-places  in  these  old  rats' 
nests. 

ANDREW.     We'll  ferret  him  out! 
WAT.     Aye,  aye — the  false  villain. 

[They  go  carefully  about  room,  lifting  hang- 
ings, tapping  walls  and  floor,  trying  to  see 
behind  picture-frames,  coming  very  near 
secret  door. 

STEPHEN.     Have  ye  tested  the  walls? 
WAT.     Aye,  and  the  floors. 
ANDREW.     There  be  no  secrets  here. 
STEPHEN.     Then  we'll  look  further.     Give  ye  good 
even,  Sir  Gilbert. 

ANDREW.     Mayhap  we'll  meet  again 

WAT.     Aye, — on  the  field  of  battle! 

[Exeunt   soldiers,   with   angry   gestures.      SlR 
GILBERT  rises  and  bows  slightly,  signing  to 
DICCON  to  follow.    SIR  GILBERT  waits  an 
instant,  follows  to  door,  then  goes  to  win- 
dow and  watches.    RAFE  jumps  out  of  box, 
and    stands    beside    settle.     Enter    LADY 
KATHERINE,    followed    by    PHYLLIS    and 
GILLIAN,  stealing  in  to  peep  out  at  win- 
dow.   Enter  CICELY  and  ALLISON,  catch- 
ing at  GILLIAN'S  skirts. 
ALLISON   [piteously].     Gillian!     Gillian! 
CICELY.     Oh,  Gillian,  don't  leave  us  alone! 
GILLIAN    [turns    back].     Never!    my    lambs.     Have 
never  a  fear  of  that.     [Sits  in  chair  (L.),  gathers  AL- 


THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS  203 

LISON  into  her  lap,  drawing  CICELY  beside  her.  GlLLIAN 
still  looks  anxiously  towards  window.] 

PHYLLIS.     There  they  go,  those  wicked  men! 

LADY  K.  Now  Heaven  be  praised!  [RAPE  runs  to 
stand  at  panel.  Enter  DiccoN.] 

DICCON.     My    lord    and    my    lady [All    turn. 

SIR  GILBERT  crosses  stage  to  meet  DICCON.]  The  knaves 
be  all  gone,  sir.  I  shut  the  gate  upon  them  with  my 
own  two  hands.  [Everyone  takes  a  breath  of  relief. 
RAPE  touches  spring  and  RUFUS  steps  out  and  strides  to 
his  father.] 

RUFUS.  Father,  let  your  son's  first  word  be  to  crave 
pardon  for  all  his  willfulness ! 

SIR  G.  [clasping  his  hand  warmly  and  putting  an  arm 
across  his  shoulder].  Nay,  lad,  'tis  freely  given.  Me- 
thinks  I  should  first  ask  thine  for  all  my  hardness  of 
heart. 

[PHYLLIS  goes  to  LADY  KATHERINE,  who 
turns  and  kisses  her  affectionately.  They 
stand  side  by  side. 

PHYLLIS.  Our  little  Rafe  has  played  the  man  and 
saved  Rufus  for  us  all. 

LADY  K.  He  is  a  brave  little  lad!  But  tell  me, 
children,  what  doth  it  mean  that  you  were  out  of  your 
beds  at  such  a  strange  hour? 

RAFE.     We  got  up  to  see  our  ancestors  dance. 

ALL.     Ancestors  dance! 

SIR  G.     What  meaneth  the  child  ? 

RAPE.  Why,  sir,  Gillian's  grandam  hath  said  to  her, 
that  when  the  midnight  tolled  on  Christmas  Eve,  my 
lord  and  my  lady  here  did  step  forth,  clasp  hands,  and 
dance. 

ALLISON.     And  so  we  came  to  see. 


204  THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS 

CICELY.  And  soothly,  it  was  so.  They  came  forth 
and  danced,  here  in  the  shine  of  the  fire.  A  brave  sight, 
Father! 

SIR  G.  Now,  saints  defend  us!  What  is  a  man  to 
make  of  this? 

LADY  K.  Never  heed  them — 'twas  just  a  sleep-heavy 
fancy.  A  beautiful  Christmas-tide  dream. 

RAPE.  Nay,  lady  Mother,  it  was  no  dream.  It  was 
the  spell  of  Christmas  brought  it  all  to  pass. 

SIR  G.  Now  doth  the  lad  speak  truth,  good  friends! 
Verily  it  is  the  spell  of  Christmas  which  hath  saved  us 
all  from  sin  and  much  sorrow  this  night.  The  spell  of 
"  Peace  upon  earth,  good  will  to  men."  Hark,  the  waits 
are  singing  still — as  angels  sing,  and  ever  shall  sing  the 
world  around,  on  Christmas  Eve. 

[All  stand  listening  for  a  moment  to  distant 
singing,  then  join  in  carol. 

CURTAIN 


NOTES  ON  COSTUME,  MUSIC,  AND 
SETTING 

Adult  parts  in  this  play  taken  by  boys  and  girls  of 
fifteen  or  sixteen.  In  contrast  to  these,  the  smaller  the 
children  playing  Rafe,  Cicely,  and  Allison,  the  better — 
Rafe  not  over  eight,  Cicely  and  Allison  six  and  five  years. 

Costumes  follow  the  Van  Dyke  pictures  of  Charles  I 
and  those  of  his  children.  Very  helpful  illustrations  may 
also  be  found  in  "  Merrylips,"  by  Beulah  Marie  Dix. 
(The  Macmillan  Company.) 

SIR  GILBERT  and  RUFUS  wear  sleeveless  jerkins  made 
of  tan-colored  canton  flannel  to  represent  leather.  Rufus 
wears  boots  and  a  broad-brimmed  hat  with  plumes,  and 
long  cloak  of  the  same  color  as  his  suit.  These  suits 
should  be  of  rich  colors  in  contrast  to  the  sober  colors  of 
the  Puritan  soldiers,  who  also  wear  leather-colored 
jerkins  and  boots. 

Cavaliers  wear  broad  lace  collars  and  cuffs,  while  the 
PURITAN  SOLDIERS  wear  square  linen  collars  and  cuffs, 
and  under-sleeves  with  stripes  running  around  them  of 
black  and  orange,  the  colors  of  the  Parliament.  Orange 
baldric  over  right  shoulder.  If  possible,  metal  helmets, 
or  firemen's  helmets  silvered  to  represent  the  steel  caps 
of  the  time;  otherwise,  broad-brimmed  felt  hats  with 
band  or  scarf  of  orange  and  black.  They  carry  swords, 
cross-bows,  or  other  arms. 

LADY  KATHERINE  and  PHYLLIS.  Full,  quilted  petti- 
coats, broad,  deep-pointed  lace  collars  and  cuffs.  Dressed 

205 


206  THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS 

in  rich  colors.  Lady  Katharine  wears  a  small  lace  cap 
upon  her  hair. 

RAPE.  Suit  like  the  picture  of  Prince  Charles.  May 
wear  a  broad  fringed  sash,  and  fringed  bows  at  his  knees. 
Lace  collar  and  cuffs.  Sleeves  may  be  slashed. 

CICELY  and  ALLISON.  Little  short-waisted,  quilted 
dresses,  with  flowered  panels  set  in.  Lace  at  the  square 
necks  and  the  elbow  sleeves. 

GILLIAN.  Plainly  made  dress  of  flowered  material. 
Skirt  full,  but  not  quilted.  Short  caps  to  the  sleeves. 
White  kerchief,  apron,  and  plain  white  cap. 

DICCON.  Plain  suit,  like  the  Puritans,  but  less  sober 
in  color,  and  without  the  leather  jerkin.  Square  linen 
collar  and  cuffs. 

THE  PORTRAITS.     Costumes  of  an  earlier  century. 

SIR  PHILIP.  Slashed  doublet  and  trunks  of  rich  color, 
and  long  stockings  to  match.  Ruff,  and  plumed  cap  or 
hat  of  same  material  as  doublet.  Wears  a  dagger. 

LADY  GERALDINE.  Dress  of  rich  color  to  harmonize 
with  Sir  Philip's.  Puffed  and  slashed  sleeves,  figured 
panel  in  front  of  skirt  and  waist,  and  panniers  on  hips. 
Ruff,  and  small  beaded  cap. 

To  stand  in  absolute  stillness  for  so  long  a  time  is 
a  difficult  matter.  Therefore  the  portraits  must  be  care- 
ful to  take  poses  which  they  can  hold  without  too  great 
a  strain  throughout  the  act. 

Music 

Choose  songs  which,  through  their  quaintness,  may  be 
in  keeping  with  the  atmosphere  of  the  whole. 
For  the  children: 

"  Waken,  Christian  children,"  * 

*  Words  printed  in  "  A  Puritan  Christmas,"  p.  136. 


THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS  207 

"  The  first  Nowell  the  angel  did  say," 
or  some  other  simple  old  carol. 

For  the  Waits : 

"  From  far  away  we  come  to  you." 

These  three  carols  are  all  to  be  found  in  "  Christmas 
Carols  New  and  Old,"  Novello  &  Company.  The  last 
has  been  modernized  and  set  to  new  music  more  suitable 
for  children's  voices  by  Mr.  W.  W.  Gilchrist,  and  is  to  be 
found  in  a  book  containing  many  good  carols  for  children 
("The  First  Nowell"  among  them),  "The  New  Ho- 
sanna."  *  Mr.  Gilchrist's  version  omits  the  quaint  re- 
frains of  the  original — "  The  snow  in  the  street,  and  the 
wind  on  the  door,"  and  "  Minstrels  and  maids  stand 
forth  on  the  floor,"  and  substitutes  "  Sing  '  Glory  to  God  ' 
again  and  again,"  and  "  Peace  upon  earth,  good  will  to 
men."  These  last  words  are  necessary  to  the  sense  in 
two  places,  in  the  text  of  the  play.  When  the  play  was 
first  given,  the  Waits  used  the  old  refrains,  and  Mr. 
Gilchrist's,  for  alternate  verses,  thus  gaining  in  quaint- 
ness  of  effect  and  at  the  same  time  avoiding  monotony. 
For  the  midnight  dance,  use  the  Minuet  from  Mozart's 
"  Don  Giovanni."  f 

SETTING 

If  the  first  scene,  which  requires  little  furniture, — the 
table,  a  chair  for  Gillian,  and  low  stools  for  the  chil- 
dren,— can  be  set  in  front  of  the  second,  much  time  will 
be  saved  in  the  changing.  One  scene  will  serve  for  both 
acts,  if  the  frames  of  the  portraits  can  be  covered  with 
hangings  during  the  first  act.  Mission  furniture  may 

*  See  p.  315. 

t  See  note,  p.  146,  in  regard  to  the  English,  following  "  A 
Puritan  Christmas." 


208  THE  SPELL  OF  CHRISTMAS 

be  used,  but  if  it  is  possible  to  obtain  a  carved  chair  and 
table,  and  appropriate  objects  to  hang  upon  the  wall, — 
one  or  two  pieces  of  armor,  a  pair  of  antlers,  etc., — the 
effect  can  be  much  enhanced. 

The  secret  door  in  the  second  act  must  be  planned  in 
accordance  with  the  possibilities  of  one's  stage.  If 
scenery  is  used,  one  section  may  be  opened  wide  enough 
for  Rufus  to  pass  through.  Otherwise,  arrange  hangings 
so  that  he  may  appear  to  go  through  a  door  behind  them. 


CHARACTERS 


THE  BABUSHKA. 
THE  BARON. 

PRINCE  DIMITRI      )  TT.     .... 
_  _  I  His  children. 

PRINCESS  DAGMAR  j 

KOLINKA 

MARIE 

MATRENA  r/^L-u         * 

Children  of  a  peasant  family. 
SASCHA 

NICOLAS 
PAVLO 

OLD  SEMYON          )  „,,       ...        -, ,, 
T  ,        y  The  village  fiddlers. 

IVAN,  his  grandson  j 

MICHAEL,     SERGIUS,     LEO,     BORIS,  "^ 
PETER  I  Village 

SOPHIA,   NADIA,   FEODOSIA,   MASHA,  J      children. 
MALASHKA,  KATINKA,  PRASKOVIAJ 


THE   BABUSHKA 

TIME:  Christmas  Eve. 

SCENE  :  Interior  of  a  Russian  "  isba,"  or  hut.  Back 
R.,  door;  L.,  window;  through  them  a  dreary  winter 
landscape  is  visible.  In  the  corner,  by  the  window,  a 
ledge  with  ikons  and  decorations.  Right,  Russian  oven, 
with  ladder  to  top.  Bench  runs  under  window  and  along 
wall.  For  other  furniture,  a  few  stools  and  a  table,  or 
large  chest  used  as  a  table  [Z/.]>  with  a  cloth,  a  loaf  of 
bread,  and  a  knife  upon  it.  Down  stage  [R.],  a  cradle. 
On  the  floor,  bear  skins,  or  other  furs.  At  rise  of  cur- 
tain, MARIE,  seated  by  the  table,  braids  a  basket;  MA- 
TRENA  rocks  cradle ;  KOLINKA  sits  by  window,  knitting; 
SASCHA  lies  on  top  of  the  oven;  NICOLAS  and  PAVLO 
play  on  the  ftoor.  Children  are  singing  the  "  Carol  of 
the  Birds." 


CAROL  OF  THE  BIRDS 


Not  slow 


BAS.  QUHRCY. 


0   b 

H  

H  1 

rH  

-1 

-\  1 

JS  U^"^ 

•       ~\                   (N           ^ 

d  

1  

-d  

i~~~ 

ff\\      / 

*             J          m 

I 

1 

5 

5 

9 

v^iy 

?            3 

W 

9 

• 

i 

» 

1 

*               9            0 

Whence  comes  this    r 
9           •         • 

ash 

»-       -i 

Of 

9- 

wings 

r* 

a    - 
V 

Ear? 

9- 

4^\*    hi  ^ 

P           i          F 

LVr  "  I    <s    ^ 

; 

SM^  U       f 

E       &  .... 

311 


212 


THE  BABUSHKA 


Fol-low-ing  straight  the  No  -  el  star  ?  Birds  from  the  woods  in 

'    -       J 


STrf  W 


-I 1- 


Si 


-g * IT 


-fr*=P 

Ho  -  ly   Night. 

^ 

4-     '  J 


wond-  rous  flight,  Beth  -  le-  hem  seek 


6. 


"  Tell  us,  ye  birds,  why  come  ye  here, 
Into  this  stable,  poor  and  drear?" 
"  Hast'ning  we  seek  the  new-born  King, 
And  all  our  sweetest  music  bring." 

First  came  the  Cock,  ere  break  of  day, 
Strutting  along  in  plumage  gay, 
Straight  to  the  humble  manger  flew, 
Chanting  aloud  Coquerico. 

Then,  near  the  Babe  a  Goldfinch  drew, 
Chirping  with  mirth   Tir-li-chiu-chiu; 
Chiu  said  the  Sparrow  in  reply, 
Pal-pa-bat  was  the  Quail's  quick  cry. 

Blackbirds  then  raised  their  sweetest  notes; 
Warbled  the  Linnets'  tuneful  throats! 
Pigeons  all  cooed  Rou-cou-rou-cou, 
Larks  sang  with  joy  Ti-ro-li-rou. 

Angels,  and  shepherds,  birds  of  the  sky, 
Come  where  the  Son  of  God  doth  lie; 
Christ  on  the  earth  with  man  doth  dwell, 
Join  in  the  shout,  Noel,  Noel ! 


THE  BABUSHKA  213 

KOLINKA.     How  lonely  it  is  with  Father  away! 

MARIE.  Yes,  and  isn't  it  strange  to  think  that  all 
the  houses  in  the  village  are  just  as  quiet  as  ours? — on 
Christmas  Eve,  too. 

SASCHA.  I  don't  believe  it  ever  happened  before  that 
the  whole  village  had  to  turn  out  and  hunt  wolves  on 
Christmas  Eve. 

MARIE.  And  if  they  hadn't  had  to  do  that  I  suppose 
Mother  wouldn't  have  had  to  spend  the  day  taking  care 
of  Petrovitch's  sick  wife,  either. 

KOLINKA.  If  the  men  were  at  home  somebody  would 
be  coming  in,  or  at  least  passing  by. 

MARIE.  Oh,  I  do  hope  they  will  kill  all  those 
dreadful  wolves  so  we  shan't  have  to  be  afraid  any 
more. 

MATRENA.     I'm  so  afraid  Father  will  be  hurt! 

SASCHA  [with  scorn].  Hurt,  Matrena!  Of  course 
he  won't  be  hurt.  Hasn't  he  always  hunted  wolves, 
every  winter  ?  But  that's  the  way  with  you  and  Kolinka. 
I  tell  you  I'm  not  afraid.  I  only  wish  I  were  older  and 
bigger — then  I  could  have  gone,  too.  It's  very  slow  to 
have  to  stay  at  home  and  take  care  of  you  girls.  [Yawns 
and  stretches.] 

MARIE  [turning  indignantly].  Indeed,  Sascha,  it 
wouldn't  be  slow  at  all  if  you  would  do  something  beside 
lie  up  there  on  the  stove  and  sleep.  Here's  the  bowl 
you  began  to  carve  a  month  ago,  not  finished  yet.  Just 
come  down  now,  and  do  it. 

SASCHA.  Oh,  no!  I  like  this  better.  And  you  know 
you  would  rather  have  me  stay  up  here  and  tell  you  the 
news.  [Teasinffly.] 

KOLINKA.  News,  indeed!  What  news  can  you  have 
to  tell,  I  should  like  to  know? 


214  THE  BABUSHKA 

SASCHA  [triumphantly].  Just  this.  That  the  great 
castle  up  on  the  hill  has  been  thrown  open  once  more. 

MARIE  [surprised].     Has  it?    Why? 

KOLINKA.     I  don't  believe  it. 

SASCHA.  It's  true,  though.  Our  father  the  Czar 
has  pardoned  the  Baron,  and  he  has  come  back  from 
Siberia. 

KOLINKA.  Are  you  sure,  Sascha?  Where  is  the 
Baroness  ? 

SASCHA.  The  men  said  so  at  the  well  this  morning, 
so  it  must  be  true. 

MATRENA.  Did  the  Baron  bring  the  little  Prince  and 
Princess  with  him? 

SASCHA.  Of  course  my  lady  and  the  children  weren't 
in  Siberia  with  the  Baron.  They've  been  in  some  for- 
eign country — I  forget  where — all  these  years.  And  now 
the  Baron  has  sent  for  them,  and  they  have  all  come  back 
to  the  castle  to  keep  Christmas  together. 

MATRENA.     Oh,  how  glad  I  am! 

SASCHA.  What  are  you  glad  for?  It  won't  make 
any  difference  to  us. 

MATRENA.     But  I'm  glad,  anyway! 

KOLINKA.  Of  course  she  is,  and  so  we  all  are, 
Sascha — glad  for  the  Baron  and  the  lady,  and  the  chil- 
dren, too. 

NICOLAS.     Did  you  say  they  were  coming  here,  Sascha? 

PAVLO.     Are  we  going  to  see  them  ? 

SASCHA.  No,  of  course  not.  They've  come  to  the 
castle,  and  it  will  be  the  wonder  of  wonders  if  we  see 
them. 

KOLINKA  [kindly].  Perhaps  they  will  drive  through 
the  village  in  their  beautiful  sleigh,  Nicolas,  and  then 
you  and  Pavlo  will  have  a  chance  to  see  them, 


THE  BABUSHKA  215 

SASCHA.  They  did  say,  at  the  village  well,  that  now 
the  Baron  is  home,  there  will  be  more  strangers  in  the 
village  again. 

MARIE.  All  the  better  for  the  village,  and  that's  a 
very  good  reason  for  you  to  come  down  and  work, 
Sascha.  We  can  sell  what  we  make  to  these  same 
strangers,  and  earn  a  few  kopeks  for  poor  Father. 

SASCHA.  That's  so,  Marie.  [Comes  down  ladder 
and  begins  to  examine  work.]  I  believe  I'll  make  some 
more  forks  and  spoons.  [Consults  MARIE  in  panto- 
mime.] 

NICOLAS.  Let's  play  wolf  hunt,  Pavlo!  I'll  be  a 
wolf [Covers  himself  with  a  skin.] 

PAVLO.  And  I'll  be  a  hunter  with  a  club!  [Jumps 
up  and  arms  himself.  NICOLAS  growls  realistically. 
PAVLO  prepares  to  strike.] 

KOLINKA  [suddenly,  in  a  startled  voice].  What's 
that  outside! 

NICOLAS.     Bears ! 

PAVLO.  No,  it's  a  wolf!  [They  throw  down  skin 
and  club  and  fly  to  the  top  of  the  stove.] 

PAVLO  and  NICOLAS  [terror-stricken].  Wolf!  Wolf! 
[MARIE  and  KOLINKA  go  to  window. 
SASCHA  tries  to  see  out,  then  goes  to  un- 
bolt door. 

MATRENA  [running  to  foot  of  ladder  and  shaking  her 
finger  at  NICOLAS  and  PAVLO].  You  bad  boys!  you've 
waked  the  baby! 

KOLINKA.     Be  quiet,  boys!     It's  not  a  wolf  at  all. 

MATRENA.  Nor  a  bear,  either.  [Rocks  cradle,  and 
pats  and  hushes  baby.] 

MARIE.  It's  some  poor  body  lost  in  the  snow,  perhaps. 
[SASCHA  gets  door  open  and  runs  out. 


216  THE  BABUSHKA 

SASCHA  [without].  Have  you  lost  your  way?  Come 
with  me.  Here  is  our  door.  It's  a  bitter  cold  night. 

[MATRENA  leaves  cradle  and  stands  by  MARIE. 
Enter   SASCHA   with   PRINCE   and   PRIN- 
CESS.    NICOLAS   and   PAVLO   watch   with 
interest. 
KOLINKA  [going  fonvard  hospitably].     Come  in;  you 

are  very  welcome.     [Sees  the  strange  guests.]     Oh 

MARIE  [aside].     Oh,  Matrena,  who  can  it  be? 
MATRENA   [aside].     Marie,  just  see  how  beautifully 
they  are  dressed! 

[Children   stand  back  abashed.     SASCHA   re- 
mains by  door. 

PRINCE  [who  leads  PRINCESS  by  the  hand].  We 
thank  you  for  taking  us  in.  I  am  the  Prince  Dimitri 
from  the  castle,  and  this  is  my  sister,  the  Princess 
Dagmar. 

PRINCESS.     And  we  have  lost  our  way. 
KOLINKA    [timidly].     We — we   didn't  know  who   it 
was.     I'm  so  glad  we  heard  you. 

MARIE  [gently  taking  PRINCESS'  hand}.  Oh,  Ma- 
trena, how  cold  her  hand  is!  Come  near  our  stove,  my 
lady,  and  warm  yourself. 

[MARIE  and  MATRENA  rub  the  PRINCESS' 
hands  while  the  boys  on  the  stove  peer 
down  curiously.  The  PRINCE  puts  his 
hands  against  stove.  SASCHA  and  KOLINKA 
stand  staring  at  the  strangers. 
SASCHA.  How  did  you  get  lost? 

PRINCE.     We  wanted  to  see  our  beautiful  forest 

PRINCESS.  You  see,  we  have  only  been  here  for  a  few 
days. 

PRINCE.     So  we  started  out  for  a  little  walk.     We 


THE  BABUSHKA  217 

didn't  mean  to  go  far  at  all,  but  before  we  knew  it  we 
had  lost  sight  of  the  castle. 

PRINCESS.  And  though  we  tried  and  tried  to  find  it 
again,  we  kept  getting  deeper  into  the  forest. 

SASCHA.  But  how  did  you  come  to  the  village?  It 
isn't  very  far  from  the  castle,  but  it  is  hard  to  find  unless 
you  know  the  road,  or  just  the  right  path  in  the  forest. 

KOLINKA.     Yes,  how  did  you  come  here? 

PRINCESS.  An  old  woman  found  us  wandering  about 
trying  to  find  the  path,  and  she  brought  us  here.  Such 
a  strange  old  woman,  all  wrinkled  and  bent. 

PRINCE.  She  seemed  to  know  just  how  to  come  here, 
though  I  couldn't  tell  what  was  guiding  her. 

PRINCESS.  And  she  was  so  good  and  kind  to  us — but 
she  never  spoke  once,  all  the  way. 

MARIE  [clapping  her  hands].  It  must  have  been  the 
Babushka ! 

SASCHA.     Of  course  it  was! 

KOLINKA  and  MATRENA.     How  wonderful! 

NICOLAS  and  PAVLO.     Babushka!    Babushka! 

PRINCE  [puzzled].     The  Babushka? 

PRINCESS.     Who  is  she? 

SASCHA.  What!  you,  Russian  children,  and  don't 
know  that! 

KOLINKA  [aside].  Hush,  Sascha,  don't  be  rude.  You 
forget  they  have  been  away  ever  since  they  were  babies, 
almost.  [To  PRINCE.]  We  can  tell  you  all  about  the 
Babushka,  Prince.  Sit  down,  and  Marie  will  tell  you 
the  story.  Marie  knows  it  best.  [KOLINKA,  SASCHA, 
and  MARIE  draw  benches  forward  and  all  sit  down, 
MARIE  in  the  center,  the  rest  not  too.  close  to  her.  PRINCE 
and  PRINCESS  on  bench  to  R.,  MATRENA  on  end  of  MA- 
RIE'S bench.  SASCHA  stands  near  MATRENA.  KOLINKA 


2i8  THE  BABUSHKA 

behind  the  group,  knitting.  NICOLAS  and  PAVLO  watch 
gravely.] 

NICOLAS.  There  aren't  any  bears  or  wolves  coming, 
Pavlo? 

PAVLO.     No.    And  Marie's  going  to  tell  a  story. 

NlCOLAS.  Let's  get  down.  [They  scramble  down  the 
ladder,  and  seat  themselves  at  MARIE'S  feet.] 

MARIE.  Was  the  old  woman  in  the  forest  all  dressed 
in  gray? 

PRINCESS.  Yes,  all  in  a  long  gray  cloak,  with  a  queer 
white  cap  on  her  head. 

MARIE.  Yes.  Then  I'm  certain  it  was  the  Babushka. 
She  is  sure  to  be  wandering  about  on  Christmas  Eve. 

PRINCE.     Is  she? 

PRINCESS.    Why? 

MARIE.  That's  what  the  story  is  about.  Once  upon 
a  time,  hundreds  and  hundreds  of  years  ago,  there  was 
a  lonely  little  house  out  in  the  fields  where  four  great 
roads  met. 

SASCHA.  And  by  the  house  there  was  a  big  guide- 
post  that  pointed  four  ways  at  once,  to  show  people  which 
road  to  take.  [Stretches  out  both  arms  and  swings  his 
body  slowly  to  show  how  the  post  points.] 

MARIE.  Babushka  lived  all  alone  in  the  little  cottage. 
In  the  summer  the  place  didn't  seem  so  lonely,  for  the 
banks  at  the  road-side  were  covered  with  bright  flowers, 
and  the  days  were  long  and  full  of  sunshine.  But  in  the 
winter  everything  was  white  as  far  as  Babushka  could 
see,  and  the  wind  howled,  and  the  wolves  howled,  and 
the  birds  were  all  gone.  And  Babushka  was  poor,  and 
old,  and  lonely.  One  winter  day,  when  she  was  hurrying 
to  get  her  work  all  done  and  her  house,  tidied  before  the 
dark  came  down,  because  she  \vas  too  poor  to  buy  candles 


THE  BABUSHKA  219 

for  herself,  she  heard  a  strange  sound  outside  like  silver 
bells  ringing  above  the  whistling  wind.  She  looked  out 
of  her  little  window  and  saw  a  great  train  of  people 
coming  down  the  broadest  of  the  roads  toward  the  cross- 
road. She  never  had  seen  anything  so  strange  before, 
for  the  leaders  were  not  traveling  in  sleighs  or  on  horse- 
back, but  on  three  great  splendid  white  camels.  The 
silver  bells  were  hung  about  the  camels'  necks,  and  their 
saddles  were  decorated  with  silver  ornaments.  And  on 
the  camels  rode  Three  Kings.  Babushka  knew  they  were 
kings  because  they  were  so  richly  dressed  and  because 
each  one  wore  a  golden  crown  on  his  head.  And  after 
them  followed  a  long  train  of  servants  and  guards.  The 
Kings  did  not  know  which  road  to  take,  and  one  of  the 
servants  was  sent  to  knock  on  Babushka's  door  and  ask 
the  way.  At  first  the  old  woman  was  so  frightened  that 
she  wouldn't  open  the  door,  nor  answer  at  all,  and  the 
Kings  themselves  had  to  get  down  from  their  camels  and 
come  to  speak  with  her.  The  servants  frightened  Ba- 
bushka, but  the  Kings  were  so  kind  to  her  that  she  soon 
told  them  all  she  knew  about  the  four  great  roads.  It 
wasn't  very  much,  for  she  had  never  traveled  further 
than  the  nearest  village,  but  she  told  the  Kings  that  there 
they  could  find  shelter  for  themselves  and  their  camels 
and  their  servants. 

Then  the  first  King  said :  "  We  have  journeyed  a  very 
long  way,  Babushka.  We  have  been  guided  on  the  road 
by  a  glorious,  shining  Star,  and  we  know  that  by  and 
by  the  Star  will  lead  us  to  a  little  new-born  Baby." 

The  poor  old  Babushka  wondered  very  much,  and 
said :  "  Who  is  the  little  child,  my  lord,  that  you  should 
take  such  a  long,  hard  journey  to  find  him  ?  " 

And  the  first  King  said :  "  He  is  a  great  King — the 


220  THE  BABUSHKA 

King  of  all  the  earth.  When  we  find  Him  we  will  lay 
our  crowns  at  His  feet,  with  these  gifts  we  have  brought 
— gold,  and  frankincense,  and  myrrh.  We  are  called 
Gaspar,  Melchior,  and  Balthazar." 

Babushka  listened  and  looked.  She  saw  the  gold 
crowns,  and  she  saw  that  each  one  of  the  Kings  bore  in 
his  hand  a  gift — one  held  a  richly  embroidered  bag  which 
looked  heavy,  and  it  was,  for  it  was  filled  with  gold. 
Another  carried  a  beautiful  crystal  jar  full  of  something 
clear  and  golden.  Babushka  knew  this  must  be  myrrh, 
and  suddenly  she  knew,  too,  that  the  fragrance  of  spices 
filling  the  poor  little  house  must  come  from  the  incense 
in  the  stone  vase  she  saw  in  the  hands  of  the  third 
King. 

She  listened  and  looked,  and  then  she  said:  "Kings 
have  no  need  of  gifts,  my  lord.  Why  do  you  carry  these 
gifts  to  the  little  child  ?  " 

And  the  first  King  said :  "  Because  this  King  of  all  the 
Earth  is  the  King  of  Love,  or  He  would  not  have  come 
down  into  the  world  as  a  little  child.  And  because  we 
love  Him  more  than  everything  else,  we  are  bringing  Him 
the  very  best  that  we  have." 

And  the  second  King  said:  "  Come,  Babushka,  go  with 
us  on  our  journey  to  find  the  Christ-Child.  He  has  come 
into  the  world  to  love  and  help  just  such  poor  old  crea- 
tures as  you." 

And  the  third  King  said :  "  There  is  room  in  His 
heart  for  you,  and  we  will  gladly  help  you  on  the  journey 
to  Him." 

And  all  the  Kings  begged  her  to  go  with  them.  But 
Babushka  was  afraid  and  unwilling.  She  saw  how  cold 
and  dreary  it  was  outside,  and  she  knew  that  she  was 
warm  and  dry  in  her  little  hut,  even  if  she  was  so  poor. 


THE  BABUSHKA  221 

She  didn't  know  anything  better  than  just  to  have  enough 
to  eat,  and  a  fire  to  keep  her  warm.  She  looked  up  into 
the  dark,  threatening  sky,  and  couldn't  see  any  mar- 
velous star  through  the  thick  clouds.  And,  besides,  she 
wanted  to  finish  sweeping  up  her  house.  She  must  surely 
do  that  first  of  all.  But  the  Kings  could  not  wait,  so 
they  mounted  their  camels  again,  and  soon  Babushka 
heard  the  music  of  the  silver  bells  growing  fainter  and 
fainter  in  the  distance.  All  the  next  day,  and  the  day 
after,  and  the  day  after  that,  and  every  day  all 
the  year,  and  through  all  the  years,  Babushka  thought 
of  her  strange  visitors.  And  still  more  she  thought 
of  the  little  Child.  And  the  more  she  thought,  the 
more  she  grew  to  love  Him,  until  at  last  she  began 
to  wish  she  had  gone  with  the  Three  Kings.  She 
grew  more  and  more  unhappy  about  it,  until  one  day 
she  made  up  her  mind  that  she  would  set  out  alone  to 
try  to  find  the  Child.  She  forgot  how  many,  many 
years  had  gone  by  since  the  visit  of  the  Kings,  and  she 
didn't  know  that  the  Child  had  gone  back  to  His  Throne 
in  Heaven  again.  She  locked  her  little  cottage  and  set 
out,  going  from  village  to  village  and  from  house  to 
house,  everywhere  seeking  for  the  Christ-Child.  When 
she  found  a  little  child  who  was  kind  and  loving  and 
true,  she  said  to  herself:  "This  little  one  looks  as  the 
Child  I  am  seeking  must  have  looked,"  and  it  made  her 
very  happy.  But  still  she  didn't  find  the  Child  the  Kings 
had  found. 

And,  Princess,  though  it  all  happened  such  hundreds 
and  hundreds  of  years  ago,  the  Babushka  is  still  hurrying 
over  the  world  in  winter  time,  looking  in  every  nursery 
and  every  cottage  for  the  little  Christ-Child.  She  comes 
in  softly  with  just  a  rustle  of  her  skirts,  and  bends  over 


222  THE  BABUSHKA 

the  beds  where  little  children  lie  asleep.  She  always 
puts  some  small  gift  on  the  pillow,  and  steals  silently 
out  again.  It  is  only  the  children  that  are  good  and 
quiet  who  ever  see  her,  and  she  makes  friends  with  them 
and  gives  them  Christmas  presents.  But  she  loves  the 
babies  best  of  all,  I  know,  because  she  still  hopes  to  find 
among  them  the  Baby  who  was  laid  in  a  manger  on  the 
first  Christmas. 

MATRENA  [after  an  instant's  pause,  pointing  to  win- 
dow]. Someone  is  at  the  window! 

PRINCESS.  I  see  her — it's  the  old  woman  who  led  us 
out  of  the  forest! 

SASCHA.     It's  the  Babushka! 

KOLINKA.  Perhaps  she  will  come  in.  Let's  be  very 
quiet. 

MATRENA.     Let's  sing — the  Babushka  loves  our  carols. 
[Children  sing  softly  the  carol  of  the  Birds. 
Enter  BABUSHKA,  very  quietly.     Lays  her 
hand  on  PAVLO'S,  then  on  NICOLAS'  head, 
and  gazes  earnestly  at  them. 
[Kneels  by  cradle,  bending  over  the  baby,  and 
kisses  it.     Rises,  stands  watching  the  chil- 
dren a   moment,   then   glides  silently   out. 
Children   see   her  pass  window,   then   the 
song  ceases. 

PRINCESS  [suddenly  springing  up].  Oh,  Dimitri,  why 
didn't  we  beg  the  Babushka  to  take  us  home  to  the  castle  ? 
Our  Father  and  Mother  will  be  so  terribly  frightened 
when  we  don't  come  back! 

PRINCE  [hurrying  to  door].  Perhaps  it  isn't  too 
late. 

SASCHA  [catching  his  arm,  and  standing  before  the 
door].  No,  no!  you  couldn't  catch  her. 


THE  BABUSHKA  223 

KOLINKA.     And  you  mustn't  go  out  in  the  cold  again. 

PRINCESS  [in  great  distress].  But  we  must  let  our 
father  know  we  are  safe ! 

KOLINKA.  We  will  send  a  messenger  as  soon  as  we 
can,  but  there  is  no  one  in  the  village  to-night 

SASCHA.  The  wolves  have  been  so  bad  that  all  the 
men  have  gone  out  to  hunt  them. 

KOLINKA.  Perhaps  someone  will  be  back  soon,  and 
then  we  can  send.  It  isn't  safe  for  the  boys  to  go  alone 
into  the  forest  so  late. 

SASCHA  [to  PRINCE].  Father  made  me  promise  not 
to  go  away  until  he  came  home.  I'm  not  a  bit  afraid, 
though. 

KOLINKA.  Sascha,  run  and  ask  old  Semyon  what  he 
thinks.  [Exit  SASCHA.]  Sascha  will  bring  Semyon  back 
with  him. 

NICOLAS.     Perhaps  Ivan  will  come,  too. 

MATRENA.  Ivan  and  Semyon  play  their  violins  and 
sing — Ivan  is  Semyon's  grandson,  you  know. 

PAVLO.     And  we  sing,  too. 

NICOLAS.     We'll  sing  for  you  when  they  come. 

PRINCE.     Will  you?     That's  nice. 

MARIE.  We  sing  all  the  songs  we  know  on  winter 
nights.  And  while  we  sing  we  work.  See,  Princess, 
this  is  our  winter  work. 

[PRINCE  and  PRINCESS  go  to  table  and  look 
over  wooden  articles  and  baskets,  with 
MARIE  and  MATRENA.  KOLINKA  stands 
by  window. 

NICOLAS  [to  PAVLO].  I'm  glad  I  wasn't  big  enough 
to  go  wolf-hunting,  aren't  you,  Pavlo,  because  now  we've 
seen  the  Prince  and  the  Princess. 

PAVLO.     And  Sascha  said  they  wouldn't  come  here — 


224  THE  BABUSHKA 

but  they  did.     Let's  go  up  on  the  stove  again,  Nicolas. 
[They  climb  upon  the  stove.] 

KOLINKA.  There  they  come.  [Opens  door.  Enter 
SASCHA,  SEMYON,  and  IVAN.]  Did  you  tell  Semyon, 
Sascha? 

SASCHA.     Yes,  and  he  says  we  must  wait. 

SEMYON.     Good-evening  to  you  all. 

CHILDREN.     Good-evening. 

SEMYON  [bowing].  It's  a  poor,  cold  welcome  home 
we  give  to  our  Prince  and  Princess,  but  we  are  glad  to 
see  them  among  us  again. 

PRINCE.  I'm  sure  they've  all  been  kind,  little 
father. 

SEMYON  [bowing  again,  to  PRINCE].  I'm  sorry,  my 
lord,  that  there  is  no  way  to  send  a  message  to  the  Baron, 
but  our  boys  are  too  young,  and  I  am  too  feeble.  The 
men  will  be  at  home  soon,  I  hope,  and  meanwhile  you 
must  be  patient. 

MARIE.  Oh,  Semyon,  let  us  have  some  carols  [to 
PRINCESS],  and  then  the  time  will  go  quickly. 

SEMYON.  Ivan  and  I  are  always  glad  to  make  music 
on  Christmas  Eve. 

IVAN.     Or  any  other  eve,  either,  Grandfather. 

[SEMYON  sits  in  center  of  stage,  IVAN  stand- 
ing beside  him.  They  play  their  violins 
and  sing  the  ballad  of  King  Wenceslas,  all 
the  children  joining  in  the  chorus. 

NICOLAS.  Sister,  sister,  I  hear  somebody  shouting,  out- 
side! 

SASCHA  [rushing  to  door~\.  The  men  come  back  from 
the  wolf  hunt! 

IVAN.  Let's  see  what  they've  killed.  [Exeunt  IVAN 
and  SASCHA.] 


THE  BABUSHKA  225 

KOLINKA.  No,  it's  not  our  father — they're  all  men 
that  look  like  soldiers. 

MARIE.  It's  the  people  from  the  castle  come  to  look 
for  you! 

[Door  flies  open.  Enter  IVAN  and  SASCHA 
with  BARON.  PRINCE  and  PRINCESS  rush 
to  him. 

PRINCE  and  PRINCESS.     Father!    Father! 

BARON.     My  children!    Are  you  both  safe? 

PRINCESS.  Oh,  yes,  Father.  These  children  have 
been  so  good  to  us. 

BARON.  Have  they,  my  dear?  Then  they  have  been 
good  to  me,  too,  and  I  thank  them  with  all  my  heart. 

KOLINKA.     Oh,  we  haven't  done  anything,  sir! 

PRINCE.  Tell  us  how  you  found  out  where  we  were, 
Father? 

BARON.  In  rather  a  queer  way,  my  son.  We  didn't 
miss  you  just  at  once,  but  as  soon  as  we  knew  you  were 
gone  everyone  was  in  a  great  fright,  you  may  be  sure. 
I  started  out  with  Sergius  and  Smoloff,  and  half  a  dozen 
others  to  search  for  you  in  the  forest.  We  hadn't  gone 
a  hundred  yards  from  the  castle  when  we  met  the  strang- 
est little  old  woman  I  ever  saw,  all  dressed  in  gray,  and 
wrinkled  and  bent 

PRINCESS  [clapping  her  hands].  The  Babushka,  Fa- 
ther, the  Babushka! 

MARIE,  SASCHA,  and  KOLINKA.  The  Babushka  took 
the  message! 

PRINCE.     It  was  she  who  brought  us  here ! 

SEMYON.  Have  you  never  heard  of  the  Babushka, 
Baron  ? 

BARON.  Yes,  yes!  I  know  the  old  story  of  the  Ba- 
bushka, but  I  never  saw  her  before. 


226  THE  BABUSHKA 

IVAN.  She  always  comes  to  our  village  at  Christmas 
time.  We  don't  all  see  her  every  year,  but  somebody 
always  sees  her. 

PRINCE.     What  did  she  do,  Father? 

BARON.  She  did  not  speak  at  all.  She  looked  at  us 
for  a  moment  with  the  softest  eyes  imaginable,  and  then 
she  stooped  down  and  pointed  to  your  footprints  in  the 
snow.  Then  she  pointed  toward  the  village,  smiled,  and 
beckoned  to  us  to  follow  her.  It  seemed  as  if  she  must 
have  guessed  our  trouble,  and  she  seemed  so  sure  and 
so  full  of  cheer,  that  we  couldn't  help  believing  we 
should  find  you,  and  followed  her  at  once.  I  must  re- 
ward her  liberally  for  the  great  service  she  has  done  me 
and  mine  this  night. 

MARIE.  The  Babushka  wants  no  reward,  Baron. 
You  know  what  it  is  she  has  been  searching  for  all  these 
years?  Grandmother  says  it  was  Love  the  Babushka 
wanted,  and  she  has  surely  found  it,  for  every  little  child 
in  Russia  loves  her  dearly,  dearly,  and  watches  for  her 
at  Christmas  time. 

IVAN.  And  when  she  comes,  the  children  sing  their 
carols  for  her.  But  the  one  she  loves  best  is  the  "  Golden 
Carol " — that's  the  song  of  the  Three  Kings,  you  know, 
sir. 

SEMYON  [in  doorway].  The  Babushka  is  coming  now, 
with  her  followers,  my  lord.  Here  they  are!  [Enter 
a  troop  of  village  children,  the  BABUSHKA  in  their  midst, 
smiling  on  them,  and  now  and  then  patting  some  little 
one  on  the  head.  She  stands  in  the  center  of  the  stage 
and  distributes  gifts  to  the  children  from  a  quaint  basket, 
answering  their  cries  and  questions  by  nods  and  smiles, 
each  child  exclaiming  "  Thank  you!  "  "  How  nice!  "  etc., 
as  he  receives  his  gift.] 


THE  BABUSHKA  227 

CHILDREN.     Oh,  Babushka!  dear,  good  Babushka! 

SOPHIA.     Have  you  got  something  for  everybody? 

MALASHKA.     Are  you  quite  sure? 

SERGIUS.     Me,  too,  Babushka! 

MASHA.     I've  tried  to  be  good,  all  the  whole  year! 

CHILDREN.     We  all  have,  truly,  Babushka. 

SERGIUS.  I've  had  good  lessons — you  can  ask  the 
school-teacher. 

KATINKA.  My  mother  says  I've  been  a  good  girl — 
aren't  you  glad? 

PETER.  Please,  Babushka — I — I'm  afraid  I  haven't 
been  a  very  good  boy.  But  I'm  sorry,  and  I'll  try  to  do 
better  next  year.  I'll  be  bigger,  then. 

PRASKOVIA.  We'll  all  be  very,  very  good  next  year — 
won't  we,  children? 

CHILDREN.     Indeed  we  will,  Babushka. 

BORIS.     Perhaps  it  will  be  easier  next  year. 

FEODOSIA.  Oh,  please,  Babushka,  I  have  a  baby 
brother  at  home.  Could  you  give  me  something  for  him? 

LEO.  My  big  brother  has  gone  wolf-hunting  with  the 
men,  but  he'll  be  sorry  enough  he  missed  you,  Babushka. 

MICHAEL.     So  has  mine,  and  he'll  be  sorry,  too. 

NADIA.  Dear  Babushka,  I've  kept  the  present  so  care- 
fully that  you  gave  me  last  year. 

MALASHKA.  Oh,  did  you?  Mine  got  broken  and  I 
cried. 

CHILDREN.  Oh,  Babushka,  we  love  you,  we  love 
you!  Why  can't  you  stay  with  us  always?  Live  here 
with  us — in  our  village. 

SASCHA.  Babushka!  You  must  have  something  for 
the  Prince  and  Princess,  haven't  you? 

[As  the  BABUSHKA  gives  them  something,  the 
BARON  turns  to  the  children. 


228 


THE  BABUSHKA 


BARON.  Children,  the  Babushka  has  given  the  best 
present  of  all  to  me. 

[Children  stare  in  .surprise. 

MARIE.     Oh,  I  know!    I  know  what  it  was! 

BARON.  Yes,  some  of  you  can  guess.  The  Prince  and 
the  Princess  were  my  Christmas  present,  for  the  Ba- 
bushka gave  them  back  to  me. 

[Children  laugh  and  clap. 

SEMYON  [tapping  his  violin  for  quiet}.  Come,  chil- 
dren, we  must  sing  for  the  Babushka! 

CHILDREN.  Yes — we  always  do.  [Applaud  again. 
SEMYON  and  IVAN  play,  while  children  sing  "  The  Golden 
Carol."] 


THE  GOLDEN   CAROL 

Vivace.  of  MBLCHIOR,  BALTHAZAR,  and  CASPAR. 


We  saw    a   light  shine  out    a  -  far,  On  Christmas  in   the 


-*.  -*- 


i 


* — ^ 


E 


*=* 


morn  -  ing,   And  straight  we  knew  Christ's  star    it  was,  Bright 


fe? 


=t=Si 

=^=^=^ 


THE  BABUSHKA 


229 


beam -ing    in       the  morn  -  ing.   Then  did      we    fall     on 

~[f 


bend  -  ed  knee,  On  Christ-mas    in       the  morn  -  ing,    And 

*  0  »       • —  I— r-  — |- 


praised  the  Lord,  who'd  let  us  see,  His  glo  -  ry  at     its  dawn-ing. 


Oh,  ever  thought  be  of  His  Name, 

On-  Christmas  in  the  morning, 
Who  bore  for  us  both  grief  and  shame, 

Afflictions  sharpest  scorning. 
And  may  we  die   (when  death  shall  come) 

On  Christmas  in  the  morning, 
And  see  in  heaven,  our  glorious  home, 

That  Star  of  Christmas  morning. 


CURTAIN 


NOTES  ON  SETTING,   MUSIC,  AND 
COSTUME 

RUSSIAN  OVEN.  Made  from  a  wooden  packing-case, 
five  or  six  feet  in  height,  covered  with  cambric,  and 
painted  to  represent  stone,  brick,  or  tiles.  These  stoves 
are  decorated  with  rich  panels  in  bold  conventional  de- 
signs of  flower  or  animal  forms,  or  combinations  of 
geometrical  figures.  They  are  often  so  large  that  in  the 
bitter  weather  whole  families  may  sleep  on  their  tops, 
or  on  a  platform  above. 

IKONS.  Pictures  of  the  Christ,  the  Madonna,  and  the 
Saints,  much  ornamented  with  gilt,  and  placed  on  a  ledge 
in  "  the  beautiful  corner,"  with  candles  in  silver  candle- 
sticks, sweet-smelling  grasses,  and  flowers,  real  or  of 
paper.  Sometimes  a  carved  wooden  pigeon  is  also  placed 
before  the  ikons — the  emblem  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  The 
wall  in  this  corner  is  hung  with  long  towels,  either  cov- 
ered with  embroidery,  or  embroidered  at  the  ends. 
Everyone  who  enters  the  room  makes  an  obeisance,  and 
crosses  himself,  before  the  ikons.  They  are  specially 
decorated  for  Christmas. 

Make  the  towels  with  stencils,  as  described  in  the 
notes  on  girls'  costumes. 

The  same  characteristic  designs  are  placed  on  ledges, 
cupboards,  and  shelves,  on  the  chest,  or  coffer,  and 
ceiling  beam,  on  carved  wooden  boxes,  dishes,  and  jugs, 
which  are  often  displayed  on  a  sideboard.  The  knife 
and  loaf  placed  on  the  coffer  constitute  a  symbol  of  hos- 
pitality. 

230 


THE  BABUSHKA  231 

The  decoration  of  the  stage  need  be  limited  only  by 
time  and  resources. 

Music 

Search  for  information  in  regard  to  carol-singing  in 
Russia  having  been  unsuccessful,  old  carols  have  been 
chosen  which  lend  an  atmosphere  of  quaintness.  The 
"  Carol  of  the  Birds  "  is  old  French,  the  others  English, 
"  The  Golden  Carol  "  of  the  Magi  being  especially  ap- 
propriate to  the  story. 

The  sources  for  "  Good  King  Wenceslas  "  are  given 
on  p.  316.  The  singing  of  this  carol  (also  the  "  Golden 
Carol  ")  is  accompanied  by  the  Village  Fiddlers  on  their 
violins.  Semyon  sings  the  part  of  the  King,  Ivan  that 
of  the  Page,  all  the  children  the  narrative  parts. 

Others,  with  better  knowledge  of  the  subject,  may  be 
able  to  obtain  music  more  strictly  suitable.  The  author 
would  be  glad  to  gain  any  accurate  information  in  regard 
to  the  use  of  Christmas  carols  in  Russia. 

COSTUMES 

BOYS  wear  Russian  blouses,  and  dark  trousers,  their 
legs  bound,  from  feet  to  knees,  with  yellowish  rags;  shoes 
suggesting  moccasins.  Blouses  may  be  made  of  canton 
flannel,  white,  or  dull  colors,  or  of  unbleached  muslin, 
reaching  halfway  to  knees.  Neck  finished  in  a  band; 
opening  from  collar  down  left  side  is  not  more  than  six 
or  eight  inches,  giving  just  room  enough  to  put  the  head 
through.  Trim  this  collar  and  opening,  also  sleeves, 
with  fur;  or  put  on  a  conventional  border  with  stencil 
and  paints,  narrow  at  neck  opening,  broad  on  sleeves. 
Tie  in  at  waist  with  a  short  sash,  ends  hanging,  of  bright 
color  to  match  borders. 


232  THE  BABUSHKA 

Outdoor  winter  costume  of  boys  is  a  very  thick,  very 
full-skirted  coat  of  dark  color,  immense  boots,  cap  of  fur, 
or  fur-bordered,  and  bright  scarf  about  neck,  ends  tucked 
into  breast  of  coat.  The  village  children,  however,  may 
be  supposed  to  rush  in  from  their  houses,  after  the 
Babushka,  without  coats,  but  dressed  as  above,  which  is 
both  simpler  and  more  picturesque. 

GIRLS'  costumes  vary  a  little  more. 

1.  Sleeveless  dress,  to  ankles;  white  guimpe,  long 
full  sleeves.     Dress  of  bright  colors,  with  band  of 
plain   color  edging  bottom  of  skirt,   neck,   both  of 
dress    and    guimpe,    and    bordering    white    sleeves. 
Apron,    white,    with    stenciled    designs    in    various 
colors. 

2.  Skirt  to  ankles,  of  soft  faded  blue  or  red,  worn 
high  on  the  short  white  waist,  which  has  full  sleeves, 
gathered  in  a  band  at  the  elbow.     Trimmed  with 
stenciled  bands  in  bright  colors,  at  hem  of  skirt,  on 
neck  and  sleeves,  and  also  at  the  edge  of  an  immense 
handkerchief  worn  on  the  head  and  knotted  under 
the  chin.     This  is  large  enough  to  spread  out  over 
shoulders,  and  is  straight  across  the  back. 

3.  Plain  narrow  skirt  of  soft  color,  with  a  long- 
sleeved  apron   (cream  white),  low-necked  in  front, 
and  cut  like  an  Eton  jacket  in  the  back.    This  skirt 
has  a  band  of  plain  color  at  the  hem,  but  the  apron 
is  trimmed  with  many  rows  of  stenciled  patterns  at 
the  bottom,  a  narrow  pattern  at  neck  and  hand,  and 
a  broader  one  around  the  back  at  the  waist.    White 
chemisette  in  front,  also  with  band  of  trimming. 

Girls  wear  knots  of  ribbon  hanging  from  the  ends  of 
their  braids,  many  strings  of  bright  beads  on  the  neck, 
and  large  gold  hoops,  or  enameled  earrings  in  their  ears. 


THE  BABUSHKA  233 

They  may  wear  low  shoes  with  bows  or  buckles,  or  the 
soft,  thick  moccasin-like  shoes  worn  by  the  boys. 

Some  few  may  be  bareheaded.  Others  wear  the  large 
handkerchiefs  described  above,  and  still  others  the  pic- 
turesque "  kokochnik,"  a  velvet,  bead-trimmed  crescent, 
worn  forward  on  the  head  as  in  the  picture  of  "  Marie." 
These  are  easily  cut  from  cardboard,  covered  with 
velvet,  and  trimmed  in  different  patterns  with  small 
beads. 

The  stenciled  patterns  above-mentioned  take  the  place 
of  Russian  embroideries.  They  are  repeated  conventional 
designs,  Greek  patterns,  and  fantastic  forms  of  flowers, 
birds,  and  animals.  Stenciling  is  suggested  as  being  the 
easiest  and  quickest  way  of  getting  the  desired  effect. 

THE  BABUSHKA.  Long  robe,  and  hooded  cloak  of 
light  gray  canton  flannel.  The  hood  is  worn  over  the 
head.  She  carries  a  quaint  basket  filled  with  cheap  little 
toys. 

An  adult  is  needed  for  this  part,  or  an  older  girl  of 
sufficient  insight  and  appreciation  to  carry  out  the  simple 
pantomime  and  fill  it  with  the  love  and  deep  yearning 
of  the  Babushka,  who  is  really  a  spirit,  and  not  a  human 
being  at  all. 

THE  BARON.  Long  military  coat,  below  knees; 
cream-colored,  trimmed  on  breast  with  a  pattern  in  gold 
braid,  a  band  of  same  around  the  edge  and  up  the  slits 
at  the  sides.  Double  collar,  standing  up  behind  head 
and  lying  flat  across  back,  scarlet  with  a  gilt  pattern. 
Scarlet  sash  with  sword  or  dagger.  Red  boots  with  blue 
heels.  Spurs.  Sleeves  open  from  shoulder  to  fur-trimmed 
cuff,  and  worn  hanging.  Under-sleeve,  and  lining  of 
coat-sleeve  of  a  rich  color.  Hat  with  flat-topped  crown 
about  eight  inches  high,  scarlet,  with  gold  pattern ;  stand- 


234  THE  BABUSHKA 

ing  brim,  dark  brown,  three  inches  high,  cleft  in  front 
to  show  more  of  red  and  gold.  Gilt  cockade  in  front. 

PRINCE.  Russian  blouse  with  military  trimmings, 
scarlet  and  white.  Khaki  trousers,  boots,  fur  cap. 

PRINCESS.  White  cape  and  hood,  trimmed  with  fur 
and  silver.  Dress  underneath  not  unlike  the  little  peas- 
ants', but  more  richly  trimmed. 

OLD  SEMYON.  Long  brown  robe,  half-way  below 
knees,  skirt  rather  full.  Legs  bound  in  tan-colored  rags. 
Moccasins.  Coat  has  broad  collar  with  long  reveres,  and 
plain  high  vest  inside,  of  same  material  as  coat.  Hat 
made  of  the  same,  low,  with  rolling  brim,  giving  a 
turban-like  effect.  Long  white  hair  and  beard. 

Marie,  the  eldest  of  the  children,  is  perhaps  fourteen; 
Kolinka,  twelve;  Matrena,  nine;  Sascha,  Ivan,  and  the 
Prince,  eleven  or  twelve;  Pavlo  and  Nicolas,  five  or  six; 
the  Princess,  nine.  The  Village  children  should  be  rather 
small. 

Satisfactory  pictures  of  Russian  homes  and  costumes 
are  -very  difficult  to  find,  but  there  is  a  series  of  fairy- 
tales in  Russian,  beautifully  illustrated  in  color,  which 
will  be  found  most  helpful  to  those  wishing  to  make 
costumes  for  this  play.  These  books  are  to  be  had  at  the 
Russian  Importing  Company,  452  Boylston  Street,  Bos- 
ton, and  may  also  be  seen  in  some  of  the  larger  Public 
Libraries. 


A    CANVAS    CHRISTMAS 

IN  TWO  ACTS 


CHARACTERS 

PETER    PEPPER,    Ringmaster,    and    owner    of    Pepper's 

Perennial  Circus. 

HARRY  HOPKINS  |  otherwise  MARCO  BROTHERS, 
LIMBER  JACK        j       Acrobats. 
BARNEY  O'BRIEN  |  other-    j  SIGNOR  FREN-  ^ 

JERRY  PICKLE         (      wise  1      CELLI 

1  c  ^          >  Clowns. 

SIGNOR  Coco- 

DILLA  } 

BEN  JACKSON,  otherwise   MR.  BARLOW,  Minstrel  and 

hand. 

DUTCH,  peanut-man  and  general  factotum. 
MIKE   McGiNNis,   otherwise    PROFESSOR  WORMWOOD, 

Animal-trainer. 
TIM,  one  of  the  hands. 
SCHNEIDER,  the  Dog. 
JOCKO,  the  Monkey. 
FARMER  SIMPSON. 
BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN  SIMPSON — "  BUB  " — 

(Eight  years  old.)  I    ,  .    , 

DANIEL    WEBSTER    SIMPSON — "  SONNY  " — 
(Five  years  old.) 


A   CANVAS   CHRISTMAS 

Written  for  a  club  of  boys  from  twelve  to  seventeen. 

ACT  I 

TIME  :  Ten  o'clock  on  Christmas  Eve. 

SCENE:  The  mess-tent  of  Pepper's  Perennial  Circus, 
very  bare  and  shabby,  with  circus  litter  about;  signs,  "  No 
Smoking,"  "  Next  performance,  2  P.M.,"  posters,  etc., 
on  the  tent  walls;  a  rough  mess-table  of  boards  and  tres- 
tles, with  boxes,  stools,  two  broken  chairs,  etc.,  for  seats. 
Pile  of  old  blankets  in  one  corner.  Lantern  hangs  in 
center  of  tent,  and  another  [L.]  at  entrance  to  circus 
tent.  \R*~\,  another  exit,  leading  out  of  doors.  Music  [if 
possible]  from  circus  tent,  playing  last  strains  of  "  Home, 
Sweet  Home."  Burst  of  applause  from  circus  tent,  the 
flaps  part,  and  the  troupe  enters  [excepting  PEPPER, 
MIKE,  and  the  animals],  weary  and  discontented,  and 
drop  down  anywhere  to  rest.  HOPKINS  throws  himself 
on  pile  of  blankets  [R.],  JACK  takes  a  box  nearby, 
BARNEY  sits  on  table,  and  JERRY  goes  to  entrance  [R.], 
fanning  himself  with  his  hat.  BEN  takes  box  [L.],  and 
DUTCH  enters  last,  slipping  the  straps  of  his  peanut-tray 
from  his  shoulders  and  setting  it  on  the  end  of  the  table. 

HARRY  [sullenly].  This  'ere's  the  worst  night  we've 
'ad  yet. 

JACK.     You  bet  yer  life ! 

BARNEY.     Faix!  I've  no  futs  left  an  me  at  all,  at  all! 
237 


238  A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS 

TIM  [rubs  his  arms}.  I'm  lame  all  over.  It's  me  for 
the  liniment  bottle! 

JERRY.  I'm  as  tired  as  any  of  you  guys,  but  I'm  a 
good  deal  madder  than  I'm  tired. 

JACK.     I  should  say. 

HARRY.  'Ow  could  we  be  h'anything  but  tired  and 
h'angry,  I'd  like  to  h'arsk,  with  such  a  boss  as  old 
Pepper  ? 

BEN.  Gen'lemen — Mr.  Pepper  he  su'tinly  war  pretty 
bad,  dis  evenin' — in  fac'  I  may  say  he  war  de  limit. 

JERRY.     And  no  excuse  for  it,  either. 

BARNEY.     Was  it  excuse,  ye  said? 

DUTCH.  Mishter  Pepper  he  don't  vaits  for  no  ex- 
cuse. You'd  t'ink  ve  vas  all  der  lazy  loafers — und  der 
ain'd  a  lazy  bone  in  der  whole  boonch. 

[Enter  MIKE,  with  dog,  and  leading  monkey. 

MIKE.  The  sound  of  yez  all  is  quite  familiar.  Be 
ye  knockin'  the  boss  again  ? 

BEN.  We-all  got  mighty  good  reason,  Mr.  Mc- 
Ginnis. 

HARRY.  'E's  not  getting  a  think  but  wot  'e's  earned 
for  'isself. 

JACK.     Work  a  fellow  to  skin  and  bone! 

BARNEY.  Wid  nary  bit  o'  regard  to  his  iligant  muscle, 
Limber  Jack? 

JACK.     It's  true — no  joshin',  Barney! 

BARNEY.     Niver  a  bit  of  it,  darlin'! 

JERRY.     It's  all  work  and  no  rest 

MIKE.     And   niver   a   dacint  worrud,    even   for   the 

dumb   bastes [Pats  dog  and  monkey.     Dog  goes 

about  from  one  to  another  expecting  pats  and  caresses, 
which  are  absent-mindedly  given.  Monkey,  unobserved, 
steals  peanuts  from  tray.} 


A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS  239 

TIM.     Nothing  but  blame,  morning,  noon,  and  night! 

DUTCH.  Und  ven  der  vork  is  ofer,  ve  don't  gets  nod- 
dings  enough  to  eats — ain'd? 

BEN.  Gentlemen,  I'm  'bliged  to  admit  dat  I'm  hungry 
all  de  day  long! 

HARRY.  H'and  h'all  night,  you  might  say,  and  no 
h'exaggeratin'. 

TIM.     We're  all  of  us  half  starved. 

JERRY  \wttrningly}.     Here's  the  boss,  fellows! 

[Enter  PETER,  striding  into   tent  and  giving 
an  angry  glance  around. 

PETER  [suspiciously].  What  are  you  all  doing  here? 
You,  Tim,  get  a  hustle  on  and  put  out  those  lights  in 
the  big  tent.  [Exit  TIM,  slowly  and  sullenly.]  Mike 
McGinnis,  go  put  your  beasts  in  their  cages — look  at 
that  monkey  wasting  the  peanuts!  Dutch,  you  aren't 
worth  your  salt — can't  you  take  care  of  your  stuff? 
[MiKE,  with  an  injured  air,  leads  out  monkey  and 
whistles  dog  after  him.  DUTCH,  much  aggrieved,  takes 
up  tray,  and  moves  it  to  another  place.]  Jerry  Pickle, 
if  you  and  O'Brien  can't  ring  in  something  new  for  your 
turn,  you'll  soon  be  given  the  hook,  and  Ben's  jokes  are 
all  stale  enough  to  crumble.  As  for  you,  Hopkins,  I 
consider  your  riding  to-night  a  flunk,  and  you  and  Jack 
are  no  acrobats  at  all — you're  just  a  couple  of  •  dubs. 
The  show's  always  had  the  name  of  a  first-class  show, 
and  it's  going  to  keep  up  to  it,  if  I've  got  to  throw  you 
all  out  and  get  a  new  lot.  So  you  want  to  look  out — 
see?  [Exit  angrily.] 

HARRY  [jumping  up].  There's  a-goin'  to  be  h'end  of 
this — as  sure  as  my  name's  'Arry  'Opkins! 

JERRY.  Well,  I'm  with  you,  for  one.  We  never  go 
into  winter  quarters  for  a  rest 


240  A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS 

HARRY.  No,  for  the  h'old  skinflint  goes  and  brings 
'is  bloomin'  show  South 

JERRY.  So's  he  can  keep  open  all  year  round,  and 
double  his  profits. 

DUTCH.  Und  vat  does  ve  get  oud  of  ut?  Yust  nod- 
dings. 

JERRY.  I  should  say  not!  We're  half  paid  and  half 
fed,  and  worked  double,  and  I  for  one  have  took  all  I'll 
stand. 

JACK.     I'm  with  you  there. 

TIM.     So'm  I,  Jerry. 

BARNEY.     Bedad,  it's  in  the  same  box  we  all  are. 

MIKE.  True  for  you,  Barney.  We'd  all  better  be 
quittin'. 

BEN.  Gen'lemen!  dis  yere  'lustrous  Company  a*  un- 
animous. We  all  'low  dat  Mr.  Pepper  have  got  to 
reform.  We-all  mus'  draw  up  a  partition  an'  prohibit 
Mr.  Pepper  for  conduc'  unbecomin'  to  a  Ringmaster. 
Gen'lemen,  let  us  take  action. 

HARRY.  H'action  be  blowed!  If  it's  'ighly  satisfac- 
tory to  h'agitate  petitions,  or  throw  up  your  jobs — w'y, 
/  calls  that  just  nothin'  doin'.  No  h'Ai  h'acrobat  is 
a-goin'  to  stand  bein'  told  'e's  flunked  in  his  best  h'act. 
/  don't  till  I've  pied  'im  h'up. 

[A  murmur  of  assent,  and  all  draw  closer 
about  him  (R.  front),  speaking  with  low- 
ered voices. 

BARNEY.     That's  something  like  talk,  that  is! 

MIKE.     I'm  wid  yez,  Harry,  me  b'y. 

JERRY.     I'd  like  to  burn  his  old  show  over  his  head. 

TIM.  Just  doctor  his  wagon-axles  a  little,  and  when 
they  break  down,  we'll  take  to  the  woods! 

JACK.     Much  he'll  get  a  new  lot. 


A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS  241 

BEN.     No,  gen'lemen — I  got  dat  proposition  beat 

[Words  become  inaudible;  they  draw  closer 
yet.  The  canvas  (back  Center)  parts. 
Enter  BUB  and  SONNY,  very  cautiously 
and  timidly,  peering  about.  They  come 
forward  a  little,  and  pause,  looking  at 
group. 

BUB.     This  is  sure  enough  the  circus,  Sonny.     Look 
at  those  men. 

[The  troupe  fall  apart  guiltily,  and  look  with 

amazement  at  the  children. 

BUB  [grips  SONNY'S  hand  and  comes  forward  slowly~\. 
Please,  mister,  is  the  circus  all  over? 

BEN.     Laws,  honey,  you  didn'  'spec'  to  fin'  no  circus 
dis  time  o'  night? 

BARNEY.     Sure,  an'  ut's  time  we  was  all  tucked  into 
our  little  beds,  an'  the  same  to  you,  bedad. 

HARRY.     Maybe  you'll  do  us  the  honor  to  tell  us  your 
names  ? 

BUB  [impressively].     My  name  is  Benjamin  Franklin 
Simpson. 

SONNY.     An'  mine  is  Daniel  Webster  Simpson. 
MIKE   [pretends  to  faint].     Oh,  would  some  of  yez 
have  the  goodness  to  fan  me!     [JACK  obliges  him.] 

JERRY.     Give  us  a  shorter  one!    They  don't  call  you 
that  every  time  you  get  your  orders,  I'm  sure. 

[Enter    PEPPER,     watching    unnoticed    from 

background. 

BUB.     No;  I'm  just  Bub,  and  he's  Sonny. 
TIM.     That's  more  like  it. 
JACK.     Breathe  easy,  Mike. 

HARRY.     Well,    Mr.    Benjamin    Franklin    Bub,   will 
you  h'inform  us  where  you  'ails  from? 


242  A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS 

BUB.  We  live  over  the  mountain,  by  Pinesburg,  an' 
we  wanted  to  see  the  circus,  so  we  just  ran  off  and  came. 

JERRY.  Pinesburg — that's  ten  miles  off.  How'd  you 
say  you  come? 

BUB.     Just  walked. 

SONNY  [rubbing  his  fists  in  his  eyes].  An'  the  circus 
is  all  over,  an'  I'm  so  tired!  [Men  murmur  sympa- 
thetically, and  the  group  breaks  and  re-forms  around  the 
boys.  Men  gather  about,  some  squatting  near  the  boys, 
others  standing  behind.] 

BARNEY.     Futted  it  ivery  shtep! 

MIKE.     Tired,  is  it? — yez  must  be  dead! 

HARRY.     Poor  kids! 

DUTCH.  Und  ve  all  leafin'  der  kinder  shtandin'. 
Here — der  box  seats  ain'd  all  sold  yet.  [Brings  box  and 
seats  them  kindly.] 

BEN  [kneeling  before  them].  Why — dey  shoes  is  all 
bust  out 

JERRY.     The  poor  kids  ought  to  be  in  bed. 

TIM.     Did  you  have  any  supper? 

JACK.     When  did  you  say  you  started? 

BUB.  Right  after  dinner,  an'  we  thought  we  could 
get  here  for  the  show  to-night,  but,  you  see,  Sonny 
couldn't  walk  very  fast 

SONNY  [sets  up  a  howl,  gives  BUB  a  punch  that  nearly 
knocks  him  off  the  box,  and  rubs  his  eyes  harder  than 
ever].  I  did,  too,  now,  Bub!  I  walked  an'  I  walked 
an'  I  walked,  so  I  did!  An'  I  want  my  supper,  I  do, 
an-'  I  want  to  go  to  bed! 

JERRY.  Hustle  off,  Dutch,  and  get  the  poor  kid  some 
grub [Exit  DUTCH  in  haste. 

BARNEY.     Sure  an'  one  of  them  can  bunk  with  me. 

JACK.     I'll  take  the  other  in  my  bunk. 


A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS  243 

MIKE.  If  it's  blankets  they're  wantin'  they're  wel- 
come to  mine. 

BEN.  Dey's  lots  ob  blankets,  gen'lemen!  I'll  fix  'em 
a  place  tergedder  as  sof  as  a  fedder-bed! 

[PEPPER  comes  forward. 

HARRY  [under  his  breath],  'Ere's  the  h'old  h'ogre 
wot'll  scare  'em  to  death. 

PEPPER  [with  unexpected  amiability].  That's  right, 
Ben,  make  'em  up  a  good  bed  in  the  sleeping-tent  with 
the  extra  blankets.  What  do  you  fellows  suppose  their 
marm's  thinking,  about  now?  [Exit  BEN.]  You  kids, 
did  you  say  you  ran  away? 

BUB  [a  little  frightened],  Ye-es,  sir — we  couldn't 
help  it.  You  see — our  folks  is  strict.  They  never  went 
to  circuses,  and  they  don't  let  their  boys  go. 

PEPPER.  Well,  has  your  folks  got  a  telephone? — 
most  farmers  Ve  got  'em  these  days. 

BUB  and  SONNY.     Yes,  sir 

PEPPER  [giving  TIM  money].  Here,  Tim,  you  run 
out  and  telephone  to Simpson,  is  it? 

BUB.     Yes,  sir, — Jonathan  Simpson. 

PEPPER.  And  tell  him  his  kids  are  safe,  and  we'll 
take  care  of  'em  all  right.  [TiM  starts  out.]  And, 

Tim [Follows  him  and  speaks  aside.]     Fix  it  up 

with  him  to  let  'em  stay  to  the  afternoon  show. 

[PEPPER  lingers  with  TIM  at  tent  door. 
Troupe  overcome  with  surprise, 

BARNEY.     Will  yez  all  hark  to  that! 

HARRY.     I  didn't  think  'as  'ow  'e  'ad  h'it  h'in  'im! 

OTHERS.     No ! 

[Enter  DUTCH  with  thick  sandwiches,  which 
the  boys  munch  eagerly.  PEPPER  comes 
forward  and  watches. 


244  A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS 

DUTCH.     So!     Das  ist  besser. 

BEN.  How'd  dat  chile's  sho't  legs  ebber  do  ten  mile, 
anyhow  ? 

JERRY.     Pretty  sandy,  that! 

PEPPER.  What  did  you  boys  run  away  for  on  Christ- 
mas Eve — weren't  you  afraid  of  missing  your  presents 
and  the  Christmas  Tree? 

BUB  [between  bites].     Presents?    We  don't  get  none! 

SONNY.  I  never  saw  a  Christmas  Tree.  [He  grows 
very  sleepy  and  leans  his  head  against  BUB,  who  keeps 
moving  and  letting  it  slip  off  while  talking  with  the  men.] 

DUTCH  [horrified].  You  don't  effer  hafe  no  Christ- 
mas? 

BUB.  No.  I  told  you  our  folks  is  strict.  My  dad 
didn't  let  us  go  to  the  Christmas  Tree  they  had  at  the 
Sunday-school,  neither. 

PEPPER.  I  didn't  suppose  that  kind  of  strictness  was 
left  in  the  country. 

BUB  [with  conviction].     My  dad's  that  kind  of  strict. 

BEN.  Dat  po'  chile's  mos'  ersleep  now.  Come  on, 
honey.  Ben'll  take  you  to  bed.  [Lifts  SONNY  in  his 
arms.] 

PEPPER.  That's  right,  Ben.  Run  on  with  him,  Bub 
— Ben'll  take  care  of  you.  [Exit  BEN,  with  children. 
Enter  TIM.]  Well,  Tim,  did  you  get  Simpson? 

TIM.  Yes,  sir,  and  he  says  he'll  come  and  fetch  the 
kids  in  the  morning — he  won't  on  no  account  let  them 
stay  to  see  the  show. 

[General  groan  of  indignation. 

BARNEY.     The  like  of  him  ain't  fit  to  live! 

HARRY  [disgusted].  Wot  sort  of  chap  do  you  call 
that! 

JERRY.     Can't  we  do  nothin'  about  it? 


A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS  245 

PEPPER.  Sure  you  did  your  best,  Tim? — you  didn't 
make  him  mad,  maybe? 

TIM.  Me?  No,  sir!  But  he  was  madder  about  the 
kids  than  he  was  scared  about  them,  I  reckon. 

MIKE.  An'  does  he  think  he  desarves  to  get  thim 
back,  I'd  like  to  know?  Let's  kape  thim  ourselves! 

JACK.  We  need  a  couple  of  kids  in  the  show.  That 
Bub's  a  sharp  one! 

PEPPER.  No,  fellows — that  won't  do.  Perhaps  the 
mother's  a  different  kind. 

[Enter  BEN,  speaks  to  MIKE.     The  rest  listen. 

BEN.  Dey's  jus'  wore  out,  dose  chillen — done  fall 
ersleep  'fo'  I  got  de  blanket  over  dem. 

JERRY.  I  tell  you  what,  fellows.  That  old  flub  of 
a  farmer  won't  get  in  very  early — let's  give  'em  a  show 
all  to  themselves.  What  say? 

JACK.     Bully  scheme! 

MIKE.     That's  classy,  that  is! 

HARRY  [aside  to  JERRY].  S'pose  the  boss'll  let  us  do 
a  stunt  like  that?  Not  on  yer  life! 

PEPPER.  Very  good  idea,  Barney.  You'll  have  all 
morning  for  it,  sure. 

[Troupe  surprised  and  delighted.  General 
hum  of  pleasure. 

PEPPER  [clearing  his  throat  and  hesitating  a  little]. 
Oh — a — a — I  was  going  to  say — these  kids  seem  to  have 
rather  a  slow  time  of  it.  What  do  you  fellows  say  we 
do  it  up  brown — go  the  whole  figure  and — well,  a  little 
Christmas  won't  hurt  us,  either.  Let's  give  them  a 
Christmas  Tree.  I'll  set  up  the  fixin's  for  it! 

[An  instant's  pause  of  utter  amazement,  then 
a  hubbub  of  enthusiasm  and  approval,  in- 
terrupted by  BEN. 


246  A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS 

BEN  [coming  forward,  raps  on  the  mess-table  and 
raises  his  voice].  Gen'lemen!  I'd  like  to  offer  de  resolu- 
tion dat  we  all  gib  t'ree  cheers  fo'  Mr.  Pepper! 

[Cheers  given  with  a  will. 

CURTAIN 


ACT  II 

TIME  :  Christmas  morning. 

SCENE:  Same  as  Act  I.  During  first  part  of  scene,  the 
troupe,  all  but  PEPPER  and  TIM,  are  very  busy  arrang- 
ing tent  for  their  special  performance.  BARNEY  and 
DUTCH  move  mess-table  to  [R.],  cover  it  with  red  cloth, 
and  set  two  boxes  upon  it  as  seats  for  the  guests  of  honor. 
BEN  and  JERRY  bring  in  a  gymnasium  mattress  and  a 
small  low  platform,  which  they  arrange  [Center],  cover- 
ing it  with  a  bright-colored  cloth.  HARRY,  JACK,  and 
MIKE  set  soap-boxes  with  boards  for  seats  at  back  of 
stage. 

BARNEY.  Did  yez  iver  see  annything  loike  the  change 
in  the  Boss? 

BEN.     I  jes'  lay  awake  half  de  night  studyin'  'bout  it. 

JERRY.  I  tell  you,  he's  just  treatin'  those  two  kids 
white,  he  is. 

JACK.     First  time  ever,  for  him. 

MIKE.  I'm  just  shtruck  doomb,  I  am.  Says  I  to  me- 
self,  says  I,  "  There's  magic  in  ut." 

DUTCH.  Nein, — it's  dot  little  Christmas  Tree  vot 
doos  ut. 

HARRY.  Well,  h'anyway,  'e's  h'evidently  'ad  a 
change  of  'eart.  'Ow's  the  kids  this  morning? 

BEN.  Fine  as  silk!  I  war  expectin'  to  fin'  'em  all 
tuckered  out,  but  not  a  bit  of  it,  sir!  Dey's  sharp  as 
persimmons.  Don'  seem  lak  dey  could  a-walked  all  dat 
way  widout  no  lift. 

247 


248  A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS 

BARNEY.     Did  yez  tell  them  about  the  show,  thin? 

DUTCH.  Ve  did,  und  dey're  so  oxzited  dot  it  seem 
like  dey'd  shump  out  o'  deir  shkins. 

JERRY.     Have  they  heard  of  the  tree? 

BEN.  No.  Mr.  Pepper,  he  say,  don'  let  on — keep 
dat  fer  er  s'prise. 

DUTCH.  Und  since  deir  folks  iss  such  heathens — dey 
ain'd  t'inkin'  'bout  noddings  like  dot. 

JACK.  Hustle  up — you  talk  too  much.  The  kids' 
folks'll  be  here  after  them  if  you  don't  get  a  move  on. 

MIKE  [gazing  with  pride  at  the  result  of  their  labors}. 
It's  a  foine  soight,  sure. 

HARRY  [leading  the  way  to  the  tent  door}.  Come 
along,  fellows — it  looks  to  me  as  'ow  we're  ready.  'Oo'll 
be  the  'erald  an'  tell  'em  we're  comin'? 

[Exeunt  all  but  DUTCH. 

DUTCH  [goes  to  footlights  and  speaks  to  the  piano}. 
If  der  bant  vill  blees  be  so  kint  und  blay  a  chune  fer  der 
grant  marsh!  [Exit.  After  a  moment  enter  DUTCH 
and  BEN  with  the  children,  SONNY  hanging  to  BEN'S 
hand  and  dancing  with  excitement.  They  are  lifted  into 
place.} 

BEN.  Now,  den,  honey,  you-all's  gwine  to  see  der 
circus,  sho'  'nuff. 

DUTCH.     So!     Is  you  gomf 'table? 

[Exeunt  BEN  and  DUTCH. 

BUB.  Oh,  Sonny,  we're  goin'  to  have  a  circus  all  to 
ourselves. 

SONNY.  It's  better  than  just  comin'  in  like  other 
folks,  isn't  it,  Bub? 

BUB.  Oh,  lots!  I  guess  it's  a  sure  enough  Christmas, 
too,  Sonny.  [He  rocks  to  and  fro  with  delight.  The 
piano  plays  a  gay,  quick  march,  and  the  Circus  enters, 


A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS  249 

in  procession,  headed  by  PEPPER  himself  and  ending  with 
the  dog.  They  march  several  times  around  the  stage, 
then  take  seats  on  the  boards.  DUTCH  suddenly  catches 
up  his  tray,  and  goes  about  shouting  his  wares,  with  a 
great  air  of  being  very  busy.] 

DUTCH.  Beanuts!  Beanuts!  Here's  your  fresh- 
roasted  beanuts!  Bop-corn!  Bop-corn  und  beanuts! 

JACK.     How  do  you  sell  'em,  Dutch? 

DUTCH  [incensed].  You  tink  I  vould  sell  dem  on 
Christmas?  Vot  you  take  me  for,  hein?  Haf  some — 
it's  a  bresunt.  [Passes  them  about,  and  then  takes  up 
his  stand  (R.  front)  just  behind  the  boys.  PEPPER  steps 
forward  and  stands  beside  the  platform.  Makes  a  fine 
sweeping  bow  to  the  boys.] 

PEPPER  [with  his  best  professional  manner].  Mr. 
Benjamin  Franklin  Simpson  and  Mr.  Daniel  Web- 
ster Simpson,  we  have  the  great  honor  to  make  you  wel- 
come to  the  most  world-renowned,  the  most  marvelous 
single-ring  circus  upon  the  face  of  this  Terrestrial  Globe 
— Pepper's  Perennial  Circus,  so  named  because  it  never 
folds  its  tents  from  season's  end  to  season's  end.  I, 
Gentlemen,  am  Peter  Piper  Pepper,  the  fortunate  pro- 
prietor of  this  colossal  assemblage  of  artists.  The  mem- 
bers of  my  Company  have  desired  the  honor  of  being 
presented  to  you  personally  before  they  exhibit  to  you  their 
unparalleled  skill.  It  gratifies  me  exceedingly  to  comply 
with  this  wish.  [Steps  to  side  of  platform  and  motions 
to  troupe.  As  he  calls  them  by  name  they  step  forward 
and  bow,  with  flourishes.]  Gentlemen,  allow  me  to  pre- 
sent to  you  the  distinguished,  the  glorious  Signor  Fren- 
celli,  and  Signor  Cocodilla,  who  have  charmed  the 
crowned  heads  of  Europe.  [The  clowns  come  forward 
and  bow] 


250  A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS 

DUTCH  [sotto  voce  to  the  boys].  Deir  names  is 
Barney  O'Brien  und  Jerry  Pickle,  but  dot  vouldn't  do 
for  der  bosters.  [Clowns  sit  down.] 

PEPPER.  Gentlemen,  you  see  before  you  the  world- 
renowned  Marco  Brothers,  known  from  the  frozen 
North  to  the  sunny  South,  for  their  skill  and  ability  in 
acrobatic  feats.  One  of  them  also  is  a  famous  bareback 
rider  and  performer  of  feats  of  equestrian  valor.  He 
has  a  further  talent  of  which  you  will  be  given  an  ex- 
ample a  little  later. 

[HOPKINS  and  LIMBER  JACK  make  their  bows. 

DUTCH.  Dot's  Harry  Hopkins,  und  de  big  feller  is 
Limber  Jack.  Dey  yust  bass  for  brudders. 

PEPPER.  Now,  Gentlemen,  our  show  has  the  distinc- 
tion of  possessing  the  great  Mr.  Barlow,  the  only  native 
African  minstrel  upon  any  stage.  Mr.  Barlow  is  a  prince 
in  his  own  country,  and  indeed  we  esteem  him  a  prince 
in  whatever  sphere  he  may  adorn. 

DUTCH.  Dot's  Ben  Chackson,  und  he  ain't  crossed 
no  vater  vider  dan  der  riffer.  [Makes  a  face.] 
But  ve  makes  it  up  to  der  peoples  vat  pays  for  der 
seats. 

PEPPER.  And  now,  Gentlemen,  last,  but  not  least  we 
have  the  noted,  the  justly  celebrated  Professor  Worm- 
wood, whose  successful  methods  of  training  the  dog  and 
the  monkey  until  they  are  rendered  all  but  human,  have 
been  copied  the  world  over.  Professor  Wormwood,  with 
his  dog,  Schneider,  and  his  South  American  monkey, 
Jocko. 

[MlKE  steps  upon  the  stage  with  the  dog  and 
monkey,  makes  his  bow,  and  admonishes 
them  to  do  the  same. 

DUTCH.     Dot's  Mike  McGinnis. 


A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS  251 

BUB.     Have  the  dog  and  the  monkey  got  some  other 
names,  too? 

DUTCH.     No, — dey  don'  need  dem. 
PEPPER.     Gentlemen,  our  little  entertainment  is  now 
about  to  begin.     Professor  Wormwood  will  give  an  ex- 
hibition of  his  clever  animals. 

[As  each  is  called  upon  to  do  some  little 
" stunt"  he  bows  elaborately,  and  does 
whatever  he  has  to  do  with  a  great  deal  of 
professional  air,  then  returns  to  his  place, 
as  before.  The  little  boys,  after  DUTCH'S 
suggestion,  applaud  vigorously,  and  the 
rest  of  the  troupe  look  on  at  each  other's 
"  acts "  with  condescending  approval. 
These  are  given  in  the  following  order. 

1.  Professor  Wormwood  and  his  animals. 

2.  Frencelli  and  Cocodilla  in  juggling  feats. 

3.  Mr.  Barlow,  the  minstrel,  in  a  darkey  story. 

4.  Limber  Jack  in  acrobatic  exercises. 

5.  Marco  Brothers,  Indian  clubs. 

6.  Harry  Hopkins   (a)    gives  an  exhibition  of  bare- 

back riding. 

(b)   as      Mademoiselle      Zarah, 
dances. 

7.  Song.     Mademoiselle  Zarah  and  Troupe. 

[MlKE  puts  the  animals  through  a  number  of 

tricks. 

DUTCH   [to  the  boys].     Abplaud!     Abplaud! 
BUB  [puzzled].     What? 

DUTCH  [clapping  hands].     Abplaud!     Dey  mus'  have 
abplowse ! 

[While  the  animals  are  performing,  the 
canvas  parts  (R.  front).  Enter  FARMER 


252  A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS 

SIMPSON,  unnoticed  by  anyone  save 
DUTCH,  who  watches  him  at  first  uncom- 
prehendingly,  then  with  suspicion.  The 
farmer  looks  about  in  horror,  craning  his 
neck  to  see  all  that  is  going  on.  Shakes 
his  fist  at  the  Ringmaster,  sees  the  children, 
and  makes  as  if  to  grab  them.  DUTCH 
interposes  his  body  with  determination. 
DUTCH  [sotto  voce,  but  decidedly].  Vot  you  t'ink 
you  do — hein? 

FARMER.  You  gi'me  those  children! 
DUTCH.  You  vaits.  You  don'  gotta  take  'em  yet. 
FARMER.  They're  mine  and  I've  come  to  git  'em. 
DUTCH.  You  is  deir  vater,  hein?  All  right;  you 
vaits.  Shoost  sit  down  und  look  at  der  show.  [Shoves 
him  down  forcibly  on  a  convenient  box  or  keg,  then  care- 
fully stands  between  him  and  the  boys.  Children  shout 
and  applaud  the  animals.  Farmer  watches  at  intervals, 
and  during  each  turn  he  rises  as  if  to  protest,  and  is  em- 
phatically set  down  by  DUTCH.  His  resistance  is  more 
and  more  feeble  each  time,  and  his  interest  in  the  per- 
formers visibly  increases,  until  at  the  end  he  actually 
stands  looking  open-mouthed  over  DUTCH'S  shoulder, 
even  betrayed  into  applause.  When  he  catches  himself 
clapping,  however,  he  stops  short  and  clasps  his  hands 
behind  his  back.  PROFESSOR  WORMWOOD  finally  bows 
himself  off.] 

PETER.     I  have  the  honor  to  announce  Signor  Fren- 
celli  and  Signor  Cocodilla  in  their  great  act. 

[Clowns  come  forward  and  bow,  do  juggling 

tricks,  etc.     Same  business  for  the  rest. 
SONNY.     Oh,  Bub,  I  think  our  dad  would  like  this, 
don't  you  ? 


A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS  253 

BUB.     I  reckon  he  would,  if  he'd  just  ever  come  and 

see  it.  [Clowns  bow  themselves  off. 

PETER.     Gentlemen,  the  famous  Mr.  Barlow  will  now 

entertain  you.  [Minstrel  tells  a  darkey  story. 

BUB.     Don't  you  wish  he'd  come  and  live  at  the  farm, 

Sonny  ? 

SONNY.     Yes,  I  do.     S'pose  he  would? 

[Minstrel  bows  and  sits  down.     All  applaud. 
PETER.     Now,  Gentlemen,  one  of  the  Marco  Brothers 
will  show  his  marvelous  strength  and  agility. 

[LIMBER  JACK  turns  flip-flaps,  etc.  Presently 
HARRY  steps  forward  and  they  swing  In- 
dian clubs,  gayly  decorated,  to  music. 
Then  LIMBER  JACK  takes  his  seat,  and 
HOPKINS  takes  the  stage  alone. 

HARRY.     Yer  honors,   I   'eartily  regret  that  I  cannot 
this  morning  give  a  h'exhibition  of  my  famous  bareback 
riding  h'exploits,  h'owing  to  the  fact  of  our  'orses  being 
h'otherwise   h'occupied — [confidentially]    a-h'eating   their 
h'oats,  ye  know.     But,  h'anyway,   I  can  make  the  h'at- 
tempt  to  show  you  'ow  it  is  done,  with  a  h'imaginary 
'orse.     'Ere,  Mr.  h'O'Brien,  will  you  kindly  h'assist  me? 
[BARNEY  brings  a  chair  without  a  back,  and 
HARRY,  after  pretending  to  quiet  a  mettle- 
some steed,  mounts,  and  goes  through  all 
the  motions  of  dashing  about  the  ring  bare- 
back.    He  wears  an  intensely  serious  look, 
fixing  his  eyes  as  it  were  upon  the  horse's 
ears,  cheering  him  on,  leaping  off  and  on, 
standing    lightly    on    one    toe,    etc.      The 
Ringmaster  watches  and  cracks  his  whip, 
the  music  plays  a  light  and  quick  air,  the 
whole  troupe  rise  and  watch  breathlessly, 


254  A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS 

bending  in  time  to  the  music  as  if  in  time 
to  a  galloping  horse.  JERRY  comes  for- 
ward with  a  wand,  and  HARRY  leaps  over 
it.  Then  BARNEY  brings  a  hoop,  wound 
in  gay  colors,  or  covered  with  tissue  paper, 
and  HARRY  springs  through  it.  This  is 
his  culminating  feat,  and  now  the  horse 
apparently  slows  down  and  stops,  HARRY 
leaping  off  and  making  a  low  bow  toward 
the  seats  of  honor. 

BUB   [applauding  wildly].     Why,  I  could  almost  see 
the  horse! 

[HARRY  retires  to  back  of  stage,  and  makes 
a  quick  change  in  full  view  of  the  audi- 
ence, to  a  ballet  skirt  and  a  yellow  wig. 
The  clowns  assist   him    to   dress,   hooking 
him  up  behind,  and  holding  a  mirror  for 
the  proper  adjustment  of  the  wig,  etc. 
PETER.     Gentlemen,   having  shown   you   his  prowess 
as  a  bareback  rider,  Signer  Marco  will  now  be  intro- 
duced to  you  in  a  new  light.     Our  traveling  arrange- 
ments being  somewhat — ahem! — circumscribed,  we  have 
never  been  able  to  carry  any  of  the  fair  sex  with  us  upon 
our  tours.    Believe  me,  Gentlemen,  such  is  the  surpassing 
genius  of  Signor  Marco  that  we  have  never  felt  the  need 
of  ladies,  as  I  am  sure  you  will  agree.     [HARRY  now 
comes  forward   with    mincing   steps   and  a   coy   smile.] 
Gentlemen,  allow  me  to  present  to  you  the  celebrated 
artist,  the  far-famed  and  charming  Mademoiselle  Zarah! 
[The  troupe  all  bow  with  great  enthusiasm  to  the  trans- 
formed HARRY,  who  courtesies  and  smiles  with  all  pro- 
fessional airs  and  graces.      The   music  strikes   up,   and 
ZARAH  dances.     When  the  dance  is  ended,  ZARAH  bows 


A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS  255 

again,  and  goes  through  the  motions  of  catching  bouquets 
from  the  troupe  or  audience.] 

PETER.  Mademoiselle  Zarah,  assisted  by  the  whole 
troupe,  will  now  favor  us  with  a  song. 

[Popular  song,  adapted  to  the  occasion  by  the 
use  of  Christmas  words.  The  boys  ap- 
plaud long  and  loudly;  the  troupe,  after 
making  a  general  farewell  bow,  break  ranks 
and  gather  around  them.  JERRY  and 
BARNEY  remove  platform. 

SONNY.     I'd  like  to  go  to  a  circus  every  day. 

BUB.  Don't  I  wish  I  could!  Well,  it's  a  fine  Christ- 
mas present,  anyway. 

PETER.     Did  you  like  it? 

BUB  and  SONNY.     Oh,  did  we! 

BUB.     It  was  just  right! 

PETER.  Can  you  think  of  anything  that  would 
be  an  improvement — for  a  Christmas  celebration,  you 
know? 

BUB  [embarrassed].  Well,  Mr.  Pepper — you  see — 
we've  always  heard  the  other  children  telling  about 
Christmas — and  Christmas  Trees — and  we  did  wish  we 
could  see  one.  This  is  next  best,  you  know — but  we  did 
wish  we  could  see  a  tree. 

PEPPER  [nods  to  clowns].  Well, — I'm  not  Herman 
— nor  yet  old  Santa  Claus,  but  I  guess  I  can  do  this 
trick.  [Waves  his  whip,  and  the  two  clowns  suddenly 
throw  back  the  canvas  (back  Center)  and  disclose  a  small 
tree,  lighted  and  raised  high,  framed  by  the  sides  of  the 
tent] 

BUB  [claps  his  hands].  Oh,  is  that  what  a  Christmas 
Tree  looks  like! 

SONNY.     Oh,  Bub,  let's  go  and  see  it.      [They  slip 


256  A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS 

down  from   their  places  and  slowly  approach   the   tree. 
Farmer  makes  as  if  to  seize  them.] 

DUTCH  [catching  his  arm}.  No,  sir, — you  vaits  shtill 
longer  a  leetle  bit! 

SONNY.     Oh,  Bub,  look  at  all  the  pretty  shiny  things. 

BUB.  And  candy,  Sonny,  and  toys,  and  the  star  on 
top!  [The  men  fairly  swell  with  pride.] 

BARNEY.  Sure  it's  the  best  I  iver  did  see,  for  a  small 
one. 

JERRY.  Makes  me  feel  like  a  kid  myself — we  always 
had  'em  every  year. 

MIKE.     It  joost  warms  the  very  cockles  of  me  heart. 

HARRY.  I'd  'ave  you  look  at  their  faces — they're 
'appy,  all  right.  It  'as  the  circus  beat  h'all  'ollow  for 
them. 

JACK.  Between  the  two,  they'll  not  forget  this 
Christmas ! 

BEN  [leaning  over  the  children].  Look  at  all  dem 
C'ris'mas  gif's,  honey!  Dey's  every  las'  one  fer  you. 

BUB  [disappointed].  Not  anything  for  anybody 
else? 

SONNY.     Not  nothing  for  Ben?    I  likes  Ben! 

BUB.  And  Dutch,  and  everybody?  [The  men  are 
confused  at  this  turn  of  affairs.]  Only  for  us?  Why, 
we  thought  Christmas  trees  were  for  everybody.  And 
they've  all  been  so  good  to  us! 

PETER  [throwing  himself  into  the  breach].  No,  that's 
a  big  mistake,  boys!  There  is  something  on  that  tree  for 
them — something  that  says  every  man  in  this  here  show 
gets  a  whole  week's  wages  for  a  Christmas  ^present,  and 
then  he  can  get  what  he  wants  most! 

[A    moment's   silence,    then    there    is  a   great 
clapping    of   hands,   and   slapping   of  each 


A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS 


257 


other's   shoulders,    and   all   press   forward 
and  shake  hands  gratefully  with  PETER. 
DUTCH  [to  Farmer].     Vot  I  tells  you?     No  maitter 
how  shtrict  you  goes  for  to  be   [slowly,  and  with  em- 
phasis], you  cain't  kills  Christmas!     Yust  look  at  der 
liddle  tree!     Laist  night  ve  all  vas  reddy  to  cut  some- 
body's t'roat,  und  dis  mornin' — Bresto!    Shangch! — ve're 
de  pest  frien's  efer.     It's  der  Kinder,  und  der  Tree,  und 
Christmas!     I  tells  you,  der  ain'd  noddings  like  Christ- 
mas der  whole  vorld  rount! 

[The  Farmer,  who  has  been  unbending  grad- 
ually, at  last  nods  in  hearty  acquiescence. 
Music  strikes  up,  and  all  sing  "  Christmas 
Song"  BUB  and  SONNY,  unmolested, 
climb  up  to  examine  the  little  tree. 

CHRISTMAS  SONG* 

Allegro  FRANK  E.  SAVILH. 

On" 


1.  The  Christ  -  mas  chimes    are 

1 


r 

ring  -  ing       out, 

i       rl 


r— j 1 -I N-, 

FM==F=r==^==: 

! — tzi i g  -J 


the      val  -  leys     sound  -  ing      clear,       And 

I 

_J _| . 


E:4 


-<&- 


Courtesy  of  Lothrop,  Lee  &  Shepard  Company. 


258 


A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS 


3F=a=F=F 


3=*±±i=S=g: 


-&• —        — m w — • 

as    the  ech  -  oes    float      a  -  bout,    Tell      ol  peace  and 

± 


P-pt. 


*- 


Christ-mas  cheer,  With  joy-ous  voic  -  ea    bless    the  day, 


I" 


S§ 


And  with  sounds  ot     mer  -  ry  cheer,        Let     us  all    keep 


^^ 


hoi  -  i-  day     For  Christmas  comes  but  once     a  year. 


-& 


A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS  259 

2.     Old  Christmas  comes  with  merry  train, 
Bringing  joy  and  mirth  again; 
The  chimes  ring  out  the  glad  refrain, 
"Peace  on  earth,  good  will  to  men." 
Be  many  Christmas  days  in  store, 
May  no  sorrow  soon  befall ; 
To  young  and  old,  to  rich  and  poor, 
A  merry  Christmas  to  you  all. 

CURTAIN 


NOTES  ON  COSTUME,  SETTING,  AND 
PRESENTATION 

COSTUMES 

PEPPER.  Scarlet  coat,  khaki  trousers,  high  black 
boots.  Silk  hat.  He  wears  a  mustache,  and  carries  a 
long  whip  with  a  scarlet  bow. 

ACROBATS.  (Hopkins  and  Limber  Jack.)  Long 
stockings,  puffed  trunks,  and  running-shirt,  or  under- 
shirt, dyed  to  match.  White  bathing-shoes,  or  "  sneak- 
ers." Any  colors  may  be  used.  Light  blue  for  Jack, 
and  yellow  for  Hopkins  are  effective.  Hopkins's  ballet 
dress  is  made  of  innumerable  skirts  of  white  tarletan, 
sewed  to  a  low-necked  and  short-sleeved  waist  of  same 
material  as  his  trunks,  bespangled  with  tinsel.  This 
should  be  carefully  put  together  and  equipped  with  but- 
tons and  button-holes,  to  slip  on  over  the  acrobat's  clothes, 
so  that  Hopkins's  "  lightning  change  "  can  really  be  made 
in  the  least  possible  time.  Woman's  light  yellow  wig 
(or,  if  the  boy  is  fair,  a  dark  wig),  dressed  in  the  ex- 
treme of  style. 

CLOWNS.  Pierrot  costumes.  White  with  red  spots, 
and  yellow  with  blue.  Faces  whitened  with  the  usual 
red  marks.  Heads  bald  and  white.  White  soft  Pierrot 
hats.  They  may  provide  themselves  with  "  slapsticks," 
and  other  properties  incidental  to  their  tricks  and  jokes. 

MINSTREL.  Usual  minstrel  make-up.  Black-face, 
large  collar,  gaudy  tie  and  vest.  Flowered  or  large- 
checked  trousers  and  dress-coat. 

260 


A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS  261 

DUTCH.  Khaki  hat  and  trousers,  shirt-sleeves,  velvet 
vest,  stuffed  to  make  him  very  rotund.  Should  be  a 
short,  roly-poly  boy.  He  carries  by  a  strap  over  his  shoul- 
ders a  tray  with  bags  of  peanuts,  rolls  of  pop-corn,  etc. 
(Which  will  probably  need  to  be  kept  under  lock  and 
key  until  time  for  its  use.) 

ANIMAL-TRAINER.  Dress  suit  and  silk  hat.  Carries 
a  riding-whip. 

TIM.  Red  flannel  shirt,  old  trousers,  very  old  felt  hat, 
boots.  May  double  with 

FARMER  SIMPSON.  Old  overcoat  and  straw  hat.  Red 
hair  and  chin  beard. 

DOG  and  MONKEY.  It  is  best  to  rent  these  costumes 
from  a  costumer,  though,  if  preferred,  close-fitting  suits 
of  brown  and  black  canton  flannel,  with  long  tails,  may 
be  made,  and  the  heads  only,  rented.  Chain  for  monkey, 
leash  for  dog. 

BUB  and  SONNY.  Overalls,  sneakers,  and  big  straw 
farm  hats. 

SETTING 

TENT.  A  most  effective  circus-tent  can  be  made  by 
fastening  strips  of  unbleached  muslin  above  the  stage- 
arch,  and  sloping  them  down  to  a  wire  stretched  five 
feet  above  floor  at  back  of  stage,  then  dropping  straight 
to  floor.  Back  the  entrances  to  the  other  tents  with  more 
canvas,  to  represent  a  straight-sided  passage. 

THE  CIRCUS  PERFORMANCE 

A  great  deal  of  liberty  may  be  allowed  here.  This 
play  having  been  written  for  a  boys'  club,  the  boys  were 


262  A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS 

intrusted  with  the  duty  of  working  up  the  individual 
"  acts,"  which  they  did  very  successfully,  with  a  little 
oversight  and  revision  from  those  in  charge. 

The  tricks  by  the  Dog  and  Monkey  were  seesawing, 
boxing  with  gloves,  dancing,  righting  a  duel,  etc.,  etc. 

The  Clowns  introduced  an  "  elephant  walk,"  a  race, 
juggling  with  balls,  and  other  tricks. 

The  Minstrel  collected  the  latest  and  snappiest  stories 
he  could  find,  and  told  them  with  zest. 

The  boys'  own  list  of  acrobatic  feats,  which  will  be 
understood  by  boys  doing  work  in  a  gymnasium,  was  as 
follows : 

1.  Roll.     Back  and  forth. 

2.  Roll  and  frog  leap. 

3.  Short  dive. 

4.  Long  dive. 

5.  High  dive. 

6.  High  dive  over  man. 

7.  Weight-lifting. 

8.  Two-man  dive. 

9.  Double  roll. 
10.     Pyramid. 

They  also  included  turning  flipflaps,  walking  on  the 
hands,  swinging  clubs,  etc.  The  Pyramid,  at  the  end,  was 
formed  by  the  whole  troupe,  on  hands  and  knees,  the 
lightest  boys  on  top,  and  at  a  given  signal  all  fell  flat  on 
the  mattress. 

The  bareback  riding  of  Hopkins  and  the  dance  of 
Zarah  are  fully  described  in  the  text. 


A  CANVAS  CHRISTMAS  263 

Music 

A  good  two-step,  rapidly  played,  will  serve  for  the 
galloping  horse,  and  Zarah  can  adapt  herself  to  any 
modern  dance-music. 

For  this  play  a  carol  or  hymn  is  not  appropriate,  but 
rather  a  jolly  song  embodying  the  idea  of  "  Christmas 
comes  but  once  a  year." 


MINTY-MALVINY'S  SANTA   CLAUS 

PLAY   IN    ONE   ACT 


CHARACTERS 

HENRI  LEBRETON. 

ALPHONSE,  his  mulatto  servant. 

LAURA  COURVOISIER,  his  sister. 

LOUISE      \ 

ANNETTE  VHer  children. 

PHILIP       j 

MINTY-MALVINY,  a  pickaninny. 


MINTY-MALVINY'S   SANTA   CLAUS 

Adapted  from  the  story  in  Wide  Awake  by  M.  E.  M.  Davis.* 

TIME:  Christmas  Eve  and  Christmas  morning. 

SCENE:  LEBRETON'S  room  in  Madame  Clementine's 
handsome  lodging-house  in  the  Rue  Bourbon,  New  Or- 
leans. 

NOTE. — The  curtain  falls  for  a  moment,  during  the 
play,  to  indicate  the  passing  of  Christmas  Eve  and  the 
coming  of  Christmas  Day. 

Curtain  rises  showing  a  comfortable  room,  strewn  with 
a  bachelor's  possessions.  [jR.]  a  fireplace  f  with  wood  fire, 
brass  dogs,  a  large  armchair,  and  footstool  on  the  hearth- 
rug. [I/.],  curtain  indicates  an  alcove  with  a  bed.  Near 
curtain,  an  old-fashioned  low-boy  with  toilet  articles  be- 
fore the  mirror, — military  brushes,  cologne,  etc.,  etc. 
Lighted  candles  here,  and  also  on  each  side  of  gilt  mirror 
above  mantel.  Shaded  lamp  on  center  table,  littered  with 
books,  papers,  a  box  of  cigars,  ash-tray,  etc.  LfiBRETON 
seated  in  the  easy-chair.  LAURA  leaning  over  the  back. 

LAURA  [affectionately  stroking  her  brother's  hair]. 
Oh,  Henri,  you  can't  guess  how  good  it  is  to  be  at  home 


again 


Oh,  yes,  I  can!     What  do  you  suppose  it  has 
meant  to  me  to  have  you  and  Louis  and  the  children 

*  Used  by  courtesy  of  Colonel  Thomas  E.  Davis, 
t  See  note  on  Fireplace,  p.  313. 
267 


268     MINTY-MALVINY'S  SANTA  GLAUS 

wandering  over  the  face  of  the  earth  all  these  months? 
I've  been  a  lost  soul  without  you,  and  your  home  to  go  to. 

LAURA.  Traveling's  all  very  nice  and  interesting,  but 
it  does  pall!  I  grew  tired  to  death  of  it — I  just  pined 
to  come  home  again,  Henri.  [Sits  on  arm  of  chair.} 

LsB.  And  here  you  are  at  last,  in  time  to  save  your 
poor  old  brother  from  utter  desolation  at  Christmas  time. 

LAURA.  Oh,  but  I  wish  the  house  had  been  ready 
for  us — it  hardly  feels  like  Christmas  anywhere  but  in 
the  dear  old  place.  But  Louis  said  it  wouldn't  do  to 
hurry  the  workmen  too  much. 

LEB.  No — they'd  only  make  a  botch  of  it.  But  you 
are  comfortable  here,  aren't  you? 

LAURA.  Yes,  indeed — you've  taken  such  nice  rooms 
for  us,  Henri.  It's  just  the  sentiment  of  it,  you  know, 
and  I  oughtn't  have  spoken.  And  Madame  Clementine 
does  everything  to  make  us  feel  at  home  and  comfortable. 

LfiB.  How  about  the  service — are  the  maids  atten- 
tive, Laura? 

LAURA.  Ask  such  a  question  about  darkies  just  betpre 
Christmas?  Henri,  you  are  a  dear  old  silly!  Of  course 
they  are.  And  so  many  of  them — I  see  a  new  one  to 
provide  with  a  "  C'ris'mus  gif '  "  every  day,  I  think.  To- 
day I  noticed  another — not  exactly  a  maid,  that  is,  but 
a  funny  little  oddity  of  a  pickanniny  who  seems  to  live 
just  to  "  fotch  an'  carry." 

LsB.  Yes,  I've  seen  that  little  monkey — does  she 
really  belong  here? 

LAURA.  I'm  not  sure — I  must  ask  Madame  Clemen- 
tine about  her.  .  .  .  Henri,  if  we  are  to  make  that  call, 
I  must  get  my  things  at  once. 

LfiB.  This  is  so  cozy — do  you  think  you  must  rout 
me  out? 


MINTY-MALVINY'S  SANTA  CLAUS     269 

LAURA.  Poor  dear,  his  conscience  has  come  home 
again!  [Rises.}  Yes,  I  think  we  really  ought.  I've 
been  at  home  three  days,  you  know,  and  the  Percivals 

are  such  old  friends,  and  Helen  has  been  ill [Goes 

to  door.]     I'll  only  be  a  moment. 

LfiB.  [going  to  ring  bell].  Very  well,  Madame,  I'm 
at  your  service.  If  you  are  my  conscience,  sis,  you  cer- 
tainly manage  to  sweeten  my  duty. 

LAURA  [laughing].     That's  just  your  flattery ! 

[Exit.    LEBRETON  goes  to  find  gloves.    Enter 

ALPHONSE. 

ALPH.  Did  you  ring,  M'sieu  Henri? 
LfiB.  Yes.  Get  me  my  coat,  Alphonse.  Madame 
Courvoisier  and  I  are  going  out  for  a  while.  [ALPHONSE 
brings  coat  and  silk  hat,  which  he  brushes,  then  helps 
LEBRETON  into  coat.]  I  shan't  be  late.  [Goes  to  door.] 
But  maybe  you've  calls  to  make  yourself?  [ALPHONSE 
puts  on  a  conscious  smirk.]  Well,  you  needn't  wait  for 
me — Christmas  Eve,  you  know.  [Exit,  putting  on 
gloves.] 

ALPH.  Thanks,  M'sieu  Henri.  [Looks  about  room, 
sees  cane,  which  he  catches  up  and  hurries  after  LE- 
BRETON.] M'sieu  Henri! 

[Exit.  MINTY-MALVINY  appears  at  door. 
Looks  cautiously  after  ALPHONSE.  Enters 
and  minces  about. 

M.-M.    [sings].     De  rabbit  and  de  jaybird,  dey  fell 
out! 

Walk  jes'  so! 

De  possum  and  de  coon  dey  want  ter 
know  what  erbout. 
Walk  jes'  so! 
[Goes  to  window  and  looks  out.]     Hit  am  plumb  dark! 


270     MINTY-MALVINY'S  SANTA  GLAUS 

Old  Santa  Claus  mus'  be  a-hitchin'  up  dem  plow-mules 
o'  hisn  by  dis  time.  My  Ian'!  de  white  folks  is  havin' 
er  good  time,  I  'low!  [Goes  to  fire  and  sits  on  a  stool.] 
Dem  dolls,  an'  dem  doll  cheers,  an'  dem  rollin'-pins  in 
de  show-winders  is  mighty  fine.  [Sighs,  and  continues 
meditatively.]  Pow'ful  scrumptious  dey  was!  Dass  de 
kin'  o'  C'ris'mus  gif  whar  ole  Santa  Claus  gwine  ter 
fotch  ter  all  de  white  chillen  in  dis  yer  town  in  de 
mawnin'!  Santa  Claus  ain't  got  no  'quaintance  wid 
niggers,  dat  I  knows  on — lessen  it  am  niggers  on  de 
sugar-plantations; — he  ain't  never  hearn  tell  o'  town  nig- 
gers. My  Ian',  whyn't  de  Lawd  mek  me  white  whiise 
He  'uz  about  it!  Hit  mus'  be  jes'  ez  easy  fer  de  Lawd 
ter  mek  er  white  chile  ez  er  black  chile!  [Rests  her 
head  disconsolately  on  her  knees  for  a  moment.  Sud- 
denly, as  a  great  idea  dawns  upon  her,  she  lifts  her  head 
and  claps  her  hands.]  Hi!  I  got  it!  [Springs  to  her 
feet  and  begins  to  dance  a  double-shuffle  with  all  her 
might,  shouting.]  Sho's  you  bawn,  I'ze  gwine  ter  do 
it!  I'ze  gwine  ter  mek  m'se'f  er  white  chile!  I'ze 
gwine  ter  do  it,  sho'! 

[In  the  midst  of  her  ivild  dance,  ALPHONSE 
appears  in  doorway,  and  stands  transfixed 
with  horror. 

ALPH.  [furiously].  Bete!  Wat  you  do  here,  in 
M'sieu  Henri  LeBreton's  room?  Ah'm  a-goin'  to  keel 
you!  [He  darts  after,  and  they  dash  about  the  room 
at  top  speed,  MiNTY-MALViNY  always  just  out  of  his 
reach.] 

M.-M.  I  ain'  'fraid  o'  no  French  nigger  lak  you! 
[She  leads  him  a  dance,  but  finally  rushes  out  at  door. 
ALPHONSE  recovers  his  dignity,  and  goes  to  attend  to 
fire.  MINTY-MALVINY  appears  before  door  again,  walk- 


MINTY-MALVINY'S  SANTA  GLAUS     271 

ing  up  and  down  with  mincing  steps  and  singing  with  a 
meaning  air.] 

M.-M.     De    yallergater    ax    fer    de    jack-o'-lantern's 
light, 

Walk  jes'  so! 

Fer  to  go  ter  see  his  gal  thoo'  de  swamp  in 
de  night, 

Walk  jes'  so! 

[ALPHONSE  listens,  rattles  irons  angrily,  then 
runs  to  door  with  poker  in  hand.  MlNTY- 
MALVINY  promptly  takes  to  her  heels. 
ALPH.  "  Walk  jes'  so!  "  An'  if  you  don't  walk  jes' 
so,  I'll  show  you  how,  gamine!  [Goes  about  arranging 
room  for  the  night.  Lays  LEBRETON'S  dressing-gown 
and  slippers  by  the  fire,  puts  out  candles  on  mantel,  then 
goes  to  dresser,  where  he  pauses  to  admire  himself. 
MINTY-MALVINY  slips  in,  a  small  brown  paper  bag  in 
one  hand  and  a  very  ragged  stocking  in  the  other.  She 
hides  behind  the  easy-chair,  but  manages  to  keep  a  sharp 
eye  on  ALPHONSE,  with  scornful  mouth  for  his  vanity. 
ALPHONSE  struts  complacently  before  the  glass,  moistens 
his  handkerchief  with  his  master's  cologne,  puts  out  the 
candles,  goes  to  table,  where  he  helps  himself  to  the 
cigars,  puts  out  light,  and  exit.  MiNTY-MALViNY  comes 
out  from  hiding-place,  makes  sure  he  is  really  gone,  and 
relights  candles] 

M.-M.  \with  deep  scorn}.  Dar!  I  knowed  dat 
French  nigger  'u'd  steal!  I  gwine  ter  tell  on  him  in 
de  mawnin'  de  minit  I  get  er  chance.  [Sits  down  on 
her  heels  before  the  fire,  screwing  up  her  mouth  and 
chuckling  with  glee.~\  Now,  now,  I'ze  gwine  ter  mek 
myse'f  inter  er  white  chile.  [Opens  bag  in  which  she 
carries  a  dab  of  flour,  with  which  she  proceeds  to  powder 


272     MINTY-MALVINY'S  SANTA  GLAUS 

her  face  as  liberally  as  the  bag  allows.  Then  she  pro- 
duces the  stocking  and  examines  it  with  care.]  Co'se  hit's 
holey,  but  den  Santa  Claus  kin  stuff  er  gob  er  candy 
er  sumpn  in  de  toe-hole,  an'  er  bannanner,  er  o'ange,  in 
de  heel-hole,  and  some  reesins  er  a'mon's  in  de  res'  o' 
de  holes.  [She  gets  up  to  hang  the  stocking.]  Hump! 
dis  is  sump'n  lak  a  chimbly,  dis  is!  Santa  Claus  ain' 
gwine  ter  hu't  hisse'f  comin'  down  a  stovepipe.  Some 
white  folks  is  funny.  [She  catches  sight  of  herself  in  the 
mirror  above  the  mantel.]  My  Ian'!  Kingdom  come! 
I  is  tu'ned  inter  er  white  chile,  sho'!  An'  ole  Santa 
Claus  gwine  ter  be  fooled,  sho'  as  I  is  er  nigger!  .  .  . 
Now  I  gwine  ter  scrooch  down  on  de  rug  hyar  an' 
watch.  [Settles  herself  comfortably.]  I  gwine  ter  hoi' 
my  eyes  open  [yawns  aloud]  ontwel  I  see  ole  Santa  Claus 
crope  down  dis  yer  chimbly.  Den  I  gwine  ter  ax  him 
howdy,  an'  den  I  gwine  ter  p'int  out  what  I  bleedge 
ter  hev  fer  C'ris'mus.  Ca'se  I  ain'  gwine  ter  be  er  white 
chile  fer  nuffin.  [This  with  some  energy,  but  she  grows 
more  and  more  drowsy.]  I  gwine  ter  ax  fer  er  wax  doll 
lak  whar  in  der  show-winder,  an'  er  cheer,  an'  er 

cradle [MINTY-MALVINY  falls  asleep.] 

[After  a  moment,  enter  LsBRETON,  quietly. 
Turns  on  light,  goes  to  dresser,  sets  down 
hat,  and  drawing  off  gloves,  tosses  them 
into  it.  Crosses  to  fire,  and  sees  MINTY- 
MALVINY.  Stirs  her  gently  with  his  foot. 

LfiB.  [not  unkindly].  Here,  you  little  imp,  get  up! 
What  are  you  doing  here?  Who  are  you,  anyway? 

M.-M.  [springing  to  her  feet,  then  falling  on  her 
knees  on  the  rug].  I  ax  you  howdy,  Mister  Santa  Claus! 
I  hope  you's  feelin'  pretty  peart?  « 

LEE.  [to  himself].     Oh,  Mister  Santa  Claus,  am  I? 


MINTY-MALVINY'S  SANTA  GLAUS     273 

M.-M.  [hurriedly].  I'ze  name  Mint — Fze  er  white 
chile,  Mister  Santa  Claus,  an'  I'ze  name  Miss  Ann.  I'ze 
er  white  chile  sho's  you  bawn,  Mister  Santa  Claus! 

LEB.  [laughing].  Oh,  are  you?  And  your  name  is 
Miss  Ann  ? 

M.-M.  [with  assurance].  Yes-sir.  Law,  Marse 
Santa  Claus  [laughs  hysterically  and  rocks  herself  back 
and  forth  on  her  knees],  I'ze  mos'  sho'  dat  I  seed  you 
clammin'  down  de  chimbly  jes'  now!  An'  I  has  been 
settin'  up  all  night  jes'  ter  ax  yer  howdy,  an'  ter  ax  yer 
ter  fotch  me  er  gre't  big  wax  doll  lak  whar  in  der  show- 
winder,  an'  er  cheer,  an'  er  cradle,  an'  some  cups  an' 
sassers  wid  blue  on  de  aidge  lak  whar  ole  Mis'  had  on 
de  sugar-plantation  whar  me  an'  Mammy  come  f'um. 
An'  dat  stockin'  whar  I  is  done  hung  up,  hit  am  pow'ful 
holey,  I  knows.  But  I  ain't  got  no  Mammy  ter  men' 
it,  an'  ef  er  gob  er  candy  wuz  in  de  toe-hole,  an'  er 
o'ange  in  de  heel-hole, — oh,  Mister  Santa  Claus,  Marse 
Santa  Claus,  I  is  er  white  chile!  Cross  my  heart,  I  is! 
[Bursts  into  tears,  as  LsBRETON  takes  hold  of  the  stock- 
ing and  looks  it  over,  trying  hard  to  restrain  his  laughter.] 
Oh,  Marse  Santa  Claus!  [Wails.]  You  is  knowed  all 
de  time  dat  I  wuz  lyin'!  I  ain't  nuffin  but  er  good-fer- 
nuffin  liT  black  nigger  whar  is  name  Minty-Malviny. 

LEB.  [almost  overcome  with  laughter].  Now  I  am 
surprised ! 

M.-M.     An'  I  am'  fitten  fer  ter  hev  no  C'ris'mus  gif . 

LEB.  Hush!  [Takes  off  his  light  coat,  pushes  her 
down  on  the  rug,  and  throws  the  coat  over  her.]  Lie 
down  and  go  to  sleep.  [With  mock  sternness.]  If  you're 

not   asleep   within   two   minutes,    I'll [His   threat 

ends  in  a  growl.] 

[ MINTY-MALVINY  sobs  for  a  moment  or  two, 


274     MINTY-MALVINY'S  SANTA  GLAUS 

but  quickly  falls  asleep,  breathing  deeply 
and  quietly.  LsBRETON  comes  forward 
and  stands  perplexed. 

LfiB.  Well,  I  reckon  Santa  Claus  will  have  to  call 
for  help.  Laura  can't  have  gone  to  bed  yet  .  .  .I'll 
get  her.  [Exit,  returning  almost  at  once  with  LAURA.] 
That's  good !  Come  in  a  moment. 

LAURA   [anxiously].     Oh,   Henri,  what  is  it? 

LfiB.  [laughing].  A  trifle!  [Puts  his  hand  on  her 
shoulder.]  My  pack  has  given  out,  and  I'm  'bleeged 
to  have  a  big  wax  doll,  like  whar  in  de  show-winder, 
and  a  cheer,  and  some  dishes,  lak  ole  Miss's  on  de 
plantation;  and  all  for  a  'spectable  young  cullud  pusson 
named  Minty-Malviny! 

LAURA  [mystified].     Henri!     I  don't  understand. 

LfiB.  No,  but  you  will  in  a  moment.  See  what  I 
found  when  I  came  in.  [Leads  her  over  to  rug,  lifts 
corner  of  coat,  and  discloses  MINTY-MALVINY  fast 
asleep.]  Isn't  this  your  little  waif,  Laura? 

LAURA.  Yes.  But  what  in  the  world  has  she  been 
doing  to  herself? 

LfiB.  Sh-sh!  Don't  waken  her!  [They  speak  in 
lowered  voices.]  Why,  she  was  waiting  for  Santa  Claus, 
and  her  past  experience  of  the  old  gentleman's  impar- 
tiality seems  to  be  responsible  for  an  experiment.  Any- 
way, she  popped  up  and  assured  me  that  she  was  er 
white  chile  sho's  I  was  bawn,  and  her  name  was  Miss 
Ann.  But  it  stuck  in  her  throat 

LAURA   [laughing].     No  wonder! 

LEB.  And  she  presently  broke  down  and  wailed  that 
she  warn't  fitten  ter  hev  no  Christmas  gift.  Now,  do 
you  suppose  you  can  find  anything  for  her? 

LAURA.     Certainly  I   can,   poor  little  soul.     Such  a 


MINTY-MALVINY'S  SANTA  GLAUS     275 

lot  of  things  have  come — ever  so  much  more  than  the 
children  need.    I'll  look  them  over.     [Going.] 

LfiB.  Wait  a  minute — have  you  any  fruit  in  your 
rooms  ? 

LAURA.     Yes — a  whole  dish.     I'll  bring  it.     [Exit.] 

LEE.  [rummaging  about  on  dresser].  Er  gob  er  candy 
fer  de  toe-hole.  Ah — this  will  do  nicely.  [Finds  box 
of  candy.  Enter  LAURA  with  fruit.] 

LAURA.  Here,  Henri,  fill  her  stocking  with  these. 
I'll  get  some  toys.  [Exit.  LEBRETON  takes  dish,  and 
sits  down  to  fill  stocking.] 

LfiB.  [working  busily].  Er  gob  er  candy — there, 
that's  it.  An'  er  o'ange  fer  the  heel-hole.  Good !  Here 
are  the  nuts  an'  reesins  for  all  the  other  holes — and 
bananas  for  the  leg!  [Enter  LAURA.  LEBRETON  holds 
up  stocking  proudly  for  her  inspection.]  There!  I 
flatter  myself  I'm  good  at  the  business,  though  you  may 
say  that  that  leg  is  hardly  as  fat  as  Minty-Malviny's 
own. 

[LAURA  laughs  approval,  and  busies  herself 
arranging  doll  in  armchair,  with  other 
toys  about  her.  LEBRETON  tries  to  hang 
stocking. 

LfiB.     Oh,  hang  it! 

LAURA.     What,  the  stocking? 

LfiB.  Yes — no — yes,  that's  exactly  what  I  can't  do! 
Come  and  help  me,  will  you  ?  [  They  struggle  with  it 
together,  making  some  noise.] 

LAURA.  .Hush,  Santa  Claus,  you'll  wake  her!  [The 
stocking  is  hung,  the  toys  arranged,  they  stand  surveying 
the  display,  and  putting  last  touches.] 

LEB.  Oh,  Laura,  this  is  gorgeous!  But  you  mustn't 
be  too  generous. 


276     MINTY-MALVINY'S  SANTA  GLAUS 

LAURA.  Nonsense,  the  children  will  never  miss  them. 
[They  stand  looking  down  at  the  coat.  LAURA  lifts  the 
edge  and  kneels  beside  MINTY-MALVINY.]  She's  too 
funny — poor  little  monkey!  Oh,  Henri,  when  we  are 
back  in  our  own  home,  I  should  like  to  take  this  poor 
little  neglected  thing  and  give  her  a  home  and  look  after 
her  a  little.  Do  you  suppose  I  could? 

LsB.  I  don't  see  what's  to  prevent.  She  looks  per- 
fectly friendless.  [They  rise  and  go  to  door.] 

LAURA.     You  are  a  good  heart,  Henri. 

LEB.  The  good  heart  is  yours!  I'm  Marse  Santa 
Glaus — and  I  intend  to  put  Minty-Malviny  in  your 
stocking!  [Both  laugh  heartily,  but  quietly,  and  ex- 
change good  nights.  LAURA  goes.  LEBRETON  comes 
back,  standing  at  table  a  moment.] 

LfiB.  I  believe  I  rather  envy  the  old  gentleman! 
[Puts  out  light  and  goes  towards  alcove,  his  dressing 
gown  thrown  over  his  arm.] 

[Curtains  are  drawn  for  a  moment,  to  indicate 
the  passing  of  the  night.  When  they  open, 
daylight  has  come,  the  fire  is  dim,  MlNTY- 
MALVINY  is  waking. 

M.-M.  [catching  sight  of  toys,  as  she  sits  up  and 
stretches].  Ow!  Wow!  Wow!  [She  fairly  yells,  be- 
side herself  with  joy.]  Ole  Santa  Glaus  done  come  down 
de  chimbly  sho'  'miff,  lak  I  seed  him!  An'  he  done 
fotch  me  er  wax  doll,  an'  er  set  o'  dishes,  same  ez  ef 
I  wuz  er  white  chile!  Oh,  Lawdy,  Lawdy,  Lawdy! 
[Jumps  up  and  gets  down  stocking,  feeling  it,  and  peer- 
ing through  the  holes.]  Er  gob  er  candy  in  de  toe-hole, 
and  er  o'ange  in  de  heel-hole.  [Pauses  suddenly,  her  arm 
thrust  into  the  stocking.]  Lawd,  I  is  glad  I  didn'  try 


MINTY-MALVINY'S  SANTA  GLAUS     277 

ter  stick  ter  dat  lie  about  bein'  er  white  chile  whar  name 
Miss  Ann!  [Continues  her  ecstatic  rummaging.]  My 
Ian'!  I  jes'  ez  lief  be  er  nigger  ez  er  white  chile!  An'  er 
heap  liefer! 

[Enter  ALPHONSE,  with  an  armful  of  fire- 
wood. Stands  horrified  on  the  threshold, 
then  rushes  forward. 

ALPH.  Ah-h-h-h!  'tite  diablesse!  va-t-en!  I'm  goin' 
to  shake  the  life  out  of  you,  singe! 

[A  boot  whizzes  past  his  ear,  from  the  direc- 
tion of  the  alcove. 

LfiB.  [imperiously].  Let  her  alone,  you  rascal!  If 
you  dare  to  touch  her  I'll  thrash  you  within  an  inch  of 
your  life! 

ALPH.  [obsequiously].  Yaa-as,  M'sieu  Henri. 
M.-M.  [maliciously,  half  whispering].  Walk  jes'  so! 
[Makes  a  face  at  ALPHONSE.  Aloud]  Fze  dat  gem- 
plum's  nigger  whar  is  dar  in  de  bade,  an'  I  gwine  he'p 
mek  he  fiah.  [ALPHONSE  goes  viciously  to  work  to  make 
the  fire,  frustrating  MINTY-MALVINY'S  attempts  when 
possible,  snatching  the  poker  away  from  her,  etc.  She 
is  exasperatingly  pleasant  and  superior]  You  ain'  bresh 
de  hearf.  [He  does  so,  and  gathers  up  the  rubbish  with 
one  last  grimace.] 

ALPH.  [at  door].     Singe!  [Exit. 

M.-M.  [tossing  her  head  and  chuckling].  Dat  French 
nigger  don'  dass  say  nuffin  to  me,  no  mo' ! 

[Enter    LfiBRETON    from    alcove,    tying    the 

cords  of  his  dressing  gown. 

LfiB.  Good-morning,  Minty-Malviny — Merry  Christ- 
mas to  you ! 

M.-M.  [bobbing  little  courtesies  to  him].  Mawnin', 
Marse  Henry — same  to  you,  suh!  [Looks  at  him  with 


278     MINTY-MALVINY'S  SANTA  GLAUS 

puzzled  half-recognition,  head  on  one  side,  like  a  bright 
little  bird.] 

LfiB.  [to  himself,  sitting  near  table].  She's  nearly 
sharp  enough  to  know  me!  [To  her.]  Minty-Malviny, 
what  are  all  those  things?  Where  did  you  get  them? 

M.-M.  [diverted  from  her  study,  turns  to  the  toys]. 
'Deed,  Marse  Henry,  I  didn't  took  'em  f'um  nobody. 
Ole  Santa  Claus  done  come  down  dis  yer  chimbly  an' 
fotch  'em  heself. 

LsB.     You  don't  say  so!    How  do  you  know  he  did? 

M.-M.     Done  saw  him,  Marse  Henry. 

LfiB.     You  did?     Did  he  scare  you? 

M.-M.  Laws,  no!  I'ze  erspectin'  him,  co'se,  an'  I 
jes'  'membered  ma  manners  an'  ax  him  howdy,  an'  he 
gib  me  all  dese  gran'  C'ris'mus  gif  s. 

LfiB.     All  those  for  you,  Minty-Malviny? 

M.-M.  [coming  closer].  Yes,  Marse  Henry,  I  is 
some  s'prised  myse'f.  I  didn't  s'pose  no  liT  nigger  could 
hab  no  such  gran'  C'ris'mus — I  'lowed  'twar  on'y  fer 
de  white  folks.  [Squats  near  him,  on  the  floor,  hugging 
her  knees.] 

LfiB.  [aside],  I  'low  white  folks  do  have  the  lion's 
share,  myself.  [To  her.]  See  here,  Minty-Malviny — 
where's  your  Mammy — who  owns  you,  anyway? 

M.-M.  Laws,  Marse  Henry,  ain'  got  no  Mammy. 
She  brung  me  in  f'um  ole  Mis's  plantation,  an'  den  she 
jes'  up  an'  lef  me. 

LEB.     Who  takes  care  of  you? 

M.-M.  [with  dignity].  Takes  cyah  ob  myse'f — don' 
need  nobody  to  min'  me. 

LfiB.     Do  you  mean  you  earn  your  own  living? 

M.-M.  Co'se  I  does!  I  runs  a'rons  fo'  Mam'  Dilcey 
— dat's  you-all's  cook — an'  I  does  chores.  An'  Mam' 


MINTY-MALVINY'S  SANTA  GLAUS     279 

Dilcey  she  treats  me  pretty  good — dat  is,  mos'ly.     [Rubs 
her  ear  reminiscently.] 

LEB.     Where  do  you  sleep? 

M.-M.  Oh,  mos'  anywheres.  [Sidles  nearer  to  him.] 
I  lak  yo'  hearf-rug  fust-rate,  Marse  Henry. 

LsB.  Oh,  you  do?  [Aside.]  Part  of  the  C'ris'mus 
gif,  I  suppose.  [To  her]  Well,  Minty-Malviny,  my 
sister,  Mrs.  Courvoisier,  is  here  now.  In  a  few  weeks 
she  will  be  going  to  her  own  home — a  fine  great  house, 
with  a  big  garden — more  like  your  ole  Mis's  plantation, 
you  know.  How  would  you  like  to  go  and  live  with 
her,  and  wait  on  her,  and  help  mind  her  baby? 

M.-M.  Dat  do  soun'  mighty  scrumptious!  But — 
Marse  Henry —  [looking  at  him  shyly  from  the  corners 
of  her  eyes]  ef  it's  all  er  same  to  you — I'd  er  heap 
druther  be  yo'r  liT  nigger.  [Suddenly  turns  and  kneels 
at  his  feet] 

LfiB.  [taken  aback,  turns  away  and  walks  down  stage]. 
Well — this  turn  of  affairs  looks  rather  more  like  my 
sock  than  Laura's  stocking!  [Turns  to  her  again.]  But 
what  about  Alphonse? 

M.-M.  [with  concentrated  scorn],  Dat  French  nig- 
ger! Why — [very  rapidly]  he  cain't  eben  mek  a  fiah! 

[There  is  a  rush  from  the  door.  Enter  the 
children,  followed  by  LAURA.  The  chil- 
dren throw  themselves  upon  LEBRETON 
with  enthusiastic  shouts. 

CHILDREN.     Christmas  gif t,  Uncle !    Christmas  gift! 

PHILIP.     We  caught  you,  we  caught  you! 

LAURA.     Merry  Christmas,   Henri! 

LfiB.  I've  no  breath  left  to  say  Merry  Christmas, 
you  young  bears!  [Shakes  them  off,  laughing.]  Unhand 
me,  villains!  I  want  to  tell  you  something.  There  is 


280     MINTY-MALVINY'S  SANTA  GLAUS 

somebody  else  here.  Minty-Malviny,  this  is  my  sister, 
Mrs.  Courvoisier  [ MINTY-MALVINY  courtesies  to  them 
all,  with  little  bobs  of  her  head],  and  these  are  my  nieces, 
Miss  Louise  and  Miss  Annette.  And  here  is  my  nephew, 
Master  Philip  Courvoisier.  [Sits  down,  with  PHILIP  on 
his  knee.]  Children,  when  you  go  home,  Mjnty-Malvmy 
is  going  with  you,  to  look  after  you,  and  play  games,  and 
tell  stories. 

PHILIP.     Can  she  tell  stories?    Oh,  goody! 

LOUISE  [aside].     Oh,  Mother,  how  ragged  she  is! 

ANNETTE.     Goody!     I  like  stories,  too! 

LOUISE.     Are  those  your  Christmas  presents? 

PHILIP.     Was  your  stocking  just  awful  full? 

ANNETTE.    Just  plumb  full?    Ours  were. 

M.-M.     Yes'm,  hit  sho'ly  wuz! 

LOUISE.  What  nice  things — did  Santa  Claus  leave 
them  for  you? 

M.-M.  Yes'm.  Ole  Santa  Claus  done  brung  'em, 
an'  I  never  'lowed  he'd  gib  'em  to  no  pickaninny  [with 
lowered  voice],  so  I  powd'ed  myse'f  up  an'  let  on  lak 
I'ze  er  white  chile! 

ANNETTE.    You  did!    What  fun! 

M.-M.  An'  den  he  come  down  dat  chimbly  an'  seed 
me. 

PHILIP.  Right  down  this  chimney?  [Slips  off  LE- 
BRETON'S  knee,  and  runs  to  look  up  chimney.  LfiBRETON 
rises  and  stands  by  LAURA.] 

M.-M.     Sho's  you  bawn,  honey! 

LOUISE.     And  you  saw  him? 

M.-M.  'Deed  I  did,  Miss  Louise.  [The  children 
gather  close,  and  MiNTY-MALViNY  tells  her  story  with 
effective  drops  in  her  voice,  followed  by  sudden  and 
startling  crescendos.]  When  he  crope  down  dat  chimbly, 


MINTY-MALVINY'S  SANTA  CLAUS     281 

an'  sot  he  eyes  on  me  de  fust  time,  he  knowed  I  wa'n't 
no  white  chile.  Ca'ze  he  eyes  uz  big  ez  yo'  maw's  chiny 
plates !  But  he  didn'  keer !  He  jes'  up  an'  tuk  dat  wax 
doll,  an'  dem  dishes,  an'  dat  cheer,  an'  dat  table,  an' 
dat  cradle  out'n  de  ba-ag  whar  he  had  on  he  back,  an' 
gun  'em  ter  me  jes'  de  same  ez  ef  I  'uz  white  ez  you-alls. 
But  I  mos'  sho'  dat  he  wouldn'  er  lef  'em,  ner  stuff 
dat  stockin'  full  er  goodies,  ef  I'd  er  kep'  on  tellin'  him 
dat  lie  about  bein'  er  white  chile  whar  name  Miss  Ann! 
My  Ian'  [this  with  an  air  of  great  virtue  and  pride},  I 
is  glad  ole  Mis'  1'arnt  me  to  tell  de  troof ! 

PHILIP.     What  did  Santa  Claus  look  like? 

LOUISE.     He  brings  us  things,  but  we  never  saw  him. 

ANNETTE.     No,  he  always  comes  when  we  are  asleep. 

M.-M.  Wa-al,  he  'uz  sump'n  lak  yo'  Unc'  Henry, 
on'y  not  er  leas'  mite  gooder-lookin'  dan  Marse  Henry, 
caze  Marse  Henry  he  de  bestes'  gempm'n  on  dis  yearth! 
But  he  'uz  sump'n  lak  yo'  Unc'  Henry.  'Cep'n  he's 
hade  touch  de  top  er  de  house!  [Makes  a  quick  and 
startling  motion  with  her  hand  and  rolls  her  eyes.}  An' 
he  voice  big  an'  deep,  an'  growly  lak  a  gre't  big  b'ar. 
An'  de  foot  he  kicked  me  wif,  'uz  big  ez  de  kitchen 
stove.  [Resumes  her  ordinary  voice.}  Ya-as,  chillen, 
ef  Marse  Henry  'uz  mo'  bigger,  an'  mo'  higher,  he  'u'd 
look  jes'  eszactly  lak  ole  Mister  Santa  Claus! 

CURTAIN 


NOTES  ON  COSTUME  AND  PRESENTATION 

Ordinary  modern  costume.  LeBreton  should  have  an 
iron-gray  beard.  Laura  and  her  children  daintily  and 
attractively  dressed. 

Alphonse,  mulatto  servant,  very  dandified  and  vain. 

Minty-Malviny,  a  black  pickaninny,  in  rags  and  tat- 
ters, nondescript  and  faded.  Her  wool  braided  into  little 
pigtails  tied  with  odd  bits  of  ribbon  and  string. 

LeBreton,  Laura,  and  Alphonse,  by  adults.  Laura's 
children,  five  to  nine  years.  Minty-Malviny,  ten  5Tears 
old.  This  part  could  be  played  by  a  boy. 

Music.  During  the  moment  when  the  curtain  is 
drawn  for  the  passing  of  the  night,  "  Holy  Night,"  or 
some  other  well-known  Christmas  hymn,  is  very  softly 
played  off  stage.  LeBreton  hums  the  same  air  while 
filling  the  stocking,  and  moving  about  stage  before  this 
interim. 


282 


THE  HUNDRED 

A  PLAY  IN  ONE  ACT 


CHARACTERS 

MRS.  DARLING,  a  young  and  pretty  widow. 
MRS.  BONNET,  the  lady's  maid. 
CATHERINE,  the  parlor  maid. 
MRS.  McGRATH,  the  cook. 
SALLY,  the  kitchen  maid. 
TIBBIE,  from  the  East  Side. 


THE   HUNDRED 

Adapted  from  the  story  by  Gertrude  Hall.* 

TIME  :  Christmas  Eve. 

SCENE:  MRS.  DARLING'S  dressing-room.  Dressing- 
table,  with  elaborate  and  glittering  toilette  articles,  and 
a  large  and  rather  showy  photograph  of  the  late  MR. 
DARLING,  also  a  smaller  one  of  MRS.  DARLING'S  cousin, 
the  REVEREND  DOREL  GOODHUE.  R.,  an  alcove  hidden 
by  curtains,  containing  a  couch  on  which  repose  The  Hun- 
dred dolls.  Stage  requires  two  entrances,  one  communi- 
cating with  MRS.  DARLING'S  bedroom,  the  other  with 
the  rest  of  the  house. 

[Enter  CATHERINE,  with  two  carriage  wraps, 

which  she  surveys  critically. 

CATHERINE  [sniffing  at  one  of  the  wraps,  with  a  sharp 
glance  at  the  bedroom  door].  Humph.  If  there's  the 
merest  smidgeon  of  camphire  about  this,  I'll  hear  from 
it!  It's  been  airing  'most  a  week,  too.  [Lays  them 
carefully  on  couch  or  chair,  then  stepping  softly,  surveys 
the  dressing-table  and  its  appointments.  Takes  up  news- 
paper from  chair,  and  glances  over  it  while  expressing 
her  sentiments.]  I'll  just  take  this  down  with  me  till  it's 
called  for.  What  with  Mr.  Jackson  the  butler,  and 
Sally  the  kitchen-maid  always  going  home  nights,  and 
Cook  slippin'  off  to  her  bloomin'  family  every  chance 

*  Copyrighted,  1896,  by  Harper  &  Bros.  Used  by  courtesy  of 
Miss  Hall  and  Harper  &  Bros. 

285 


286  THE  HUNDRED 

she  gets,  it's  likely  to  be  lonesome  for  me  this  evening. 
I'll  be  bound  Mrs.  Bonnet'll  be  off  with  some  friend 
or  other,  the  minute  Mrs.  Darling's  out  of  the  house. 
Not  that  her  company's  over-pleasant.  I'd  rather  stay 
alone  any  time.  It's  good  luck  for  every  other  soul  in 
the  house  when  Mrs.  Darling  dines  out.  But  /  never 
come  in  for  the  extras. 

[Enter  SALLY  with  fur-lined  carriage  shoes, 
which  she  places  beside  the  wraps. 

SALLY.  Mrs.  Darling  wanted  those  warmed  in  the 
kitchen.  I  sh'd  think  all  these  fur  fixin's  'd  be  warm 
enough  without  no  stove. 

CATHERINE   [sullenly].     You  going,  too,  I  suppose? 

SALLY.  Why,  yes.  Ain't  I  done  everything?  There's 
no  need  of  me  staying,  is  there? 

CATHERINE.  No,  I  don't  suppose  there  is.  I  just 
thought  you  might  be,  that's  all. 

SALLY.     Tell  you  what  I'd  like  to  do! 

CATHERINE.     What'd  you  like  to  do,  Sally? 

SALLY  [confidentially].  That's  to  come  back  again 
after  I've  been  home  for  just  a  minute. 

CATHERINE  [looks  up,  unable  to  conceal  her  interest]. 
You  don't  mean  just  to  oblige,  do  you,  Sally? 

SALLY.  Well,  I'd  do  it  in  a  minute,  for  nothing  else 
beside,  but  that  ain't  quite  all  I  was  thinking  of,  just  this 
once.  Miss  Catherine — [hesitates,  then  continues  en- 
thusiastically]— have  you  seen  'em  in  there?  The  whole 
hundred  of  'em  laid  out  in  the  alcove  here.  [Draws 
back  curtain  a  little,  partly  disclosing  the  couch  with  an 
array  of  daintily  dressed  dolls.  They  pick  up  one  or  two, 
and  look  them  over  admiringly.]  I  saw  'em  last  night 
when  Mrs.  Bonnet  she  sent  me  up  for  the  lamps  to 
clean,  and  I've  been  thinkin'  about  it  ever  since.  Law! 


THE  HUNDRED  287 

wouldn't  any  child  like  to  see  a  sight  like  that!  There's 
a  little  girl  in  my  tenement,  she'd  just  go  crazy.  Do  you 
think  there'd  be  any  harm  in  it,  if  I  was  to  bring  her 
over  and  let  her  get  one  peep?  She's  as  clean  a  child 
as  ever  you  saw.  She  comes  of  dreadful  poor  folks,  but 
just  as  respectable.  She  never  seen  anything  like  it  in 
her  life.  Law,  what  would  I  have  done  when  I  was 
a  young  one,  if  I'd  seen  that?  I'd  thought  I  was  dead 
and  gone  to  heaven.  I  say,  Miss  Catherine,  do  you  think 
anybody'd  mind? 

CATHERINE  [callously].  How'll  they  know?  Look 
here,  Sally;  you  go  along  as  fast  as  you  can,  and  fetch 
your  young  one.  And  when  you've  got  back,  perhaps 
I'll  step  out  a  minute,  two  or  three  doors  up  street,  and 
you  can  answer  the  bell  while  I'm  gone.  Now  hurry 
into  your  things.  I'll  give  you  your  car-fare. 

SALLY.  Miss  Catherine,  you're  just  as  good  as  you 
can  be,  and  I'll  do  something  to  oblige  you,  too,  some- 
time. [Exeunt.] 

[Enter  MRS.  DARLING  from  bedroom  in  even- 
ing dress.  Takes  her  cousin's  photo  from 
dressing-table  and  holds  it  at  arm's  length. 

MRS.  DARLING.  Well,  sir,  does  your  charming  cousin 
reach  your  standard  of  feminine  appearance?  Or  is  she 
still  far  from  that  pinnacle  of  elegance  to  which  she 
aspires?  She  should  be  perfect  indeed  when  she  is  to 
pose  before  the  world  as  the  highly-favored  of  the  dis- 
tinguished Mr.  Goodhue.  .  .  .  And  all  the  time,  I  know 
perfectly  well  that  he  prefers  Quaker  gowns,  or  hospital 
caps  and  aprons.  .  .  .  Well,  I'm  not  exactly  a  lily  of 
the  field,  but  when  it  comes  to  Solomon  in  all  his  glory! 
.  .  .  The  morning  papers  will  say  so,  at  least.  "  The 
Reverend  Dorel  Goodhue,  accompanied  by  his  cousin, 


288  THE  HUNDRED 

Mrs.  Darling,"  and  so  forth.  Oh,  sometimes  I  do  grow 
so  tired  of  it  all !  It's  such  a  farce !  .  .  .  Now,  this  won't 
do  at  all.  The  Reverend  Dorel  Goodhue  may  preach 
to  me  on  Sunday  mornings,  from  a  properly  elevated 
pulpit,  in  a  proper  and  decorous  and  conventional  manner, 

but Just  be  kind  enough  to  turn  your  reproachful 

face  away,  sir,  and  let  your  cousin  finish  her  prinking. 
[Replaces  photo  face  down.]  Bonnet,  why  don't  you 
come  and  do  my  hair? 

[Enter  BONNET,  slowly  waving  a  hot  curling 

iron. 
BONNET.     Yes,  Mrs.  Darling. 

[MRS.  DARLING  sits  before  mirror  beautify- 
ing her  finger-nails,  while  BONNET  curls 
a  few  straggling  locks  of  hair. 

MRS.  D.  [diligently  polishing,  murmurs].  Mind  what 
you  are  about. 

[BONNET  removes  tongs  and  catches  the  lock 

with  greater  precaution. 

MRS.  D.  [louder,  with  a  warning  acid  in  her  voice]. 
Mind  what  you  are  about! 

[BONNET  begins  again,  after  a  pause  to  make 
firm  her  nerve,  catching  the  hair  with  in- 
finite solicitude. 

MRS.  D.  [almost  screams].  Mind  what  you're  about! 
Didn't  I  tell  you  to  be  careful?  You've  been  pulling 
right  along  at  the  same  hair!  Do  consider  that  it  is  a 
human  scalp,  and  not  a  wig — you  are  dealing  with! 
Bonny,  you're  not  a  bad  woman,  but  you  will  wear  me 
out.  Come,  go  on  with  it;  it's  getting  late.  [She  turns 
the  photo  face  out  once  more,  and  after  a  moment,  as  if 
the  sight  of  it  made  her  repent,  she  rolls  up  her  eyes 
angelically  to  the  reflection  of  BONNET'S  face  in  the 


THE  HUNDRED  289 

mirror.]  Bonny,  do  you  think  that  black  moire  of  mine 
would  make  over  nicely  for  you?  I  am  going  to  give 
it  to  you.  No,  don't  thank  me — it  makes  me  look  old. 
Now,  my  fur  shoes. 

[BONNET  brings  the  shoes  and  begins  to  strug- 
gle with  them. 

MRS.  D.  [bracing  herself  against  BONNET'S  efforts]. 
I  suppose — I  suppose  I  have  a  very  bad  temper!  [Laughs 
in  a  sensible,  natural  way.]  Tell  the  truth,  Bonny;  if 
every  mistress  had  to  have  a  certificate  from  her  maid, 
you  would  give  me  a  pretty  bad  one,  wouldn't  you?  But 
I  was  abominably  brought  up.  I  used  to  slap  my  gov- 
ernesses. And  I've  had  all  sorts  of  illnesses;  trouble,  too. 
And  I  mostly  don't  mean  anything  by  it.  It's  just  nerves. 
Poor  Bonny !  I  do  treat  you  shamefully,  don't  I  ? 

BONNET  [expanding  in  the  light  of  this  uncommon 
familiarity].  Oh,  ma'am,  I  would  give  you  a  character 
as  would  make  it  no  difficulty  in  you  getting  a  first- 
class  situation  right  away;  you  may  depend  upon  it, 
ma'am,  I  would.  Don't  this  shoe  seem  a  bit  tight, 
ma'am? 

MRS.  D.  Not  at  all.  It's  a  whole  size  larger  than 
the  old  ones.  If  you  would  just  be  so  good  as  to  hold 
the  shoe-horn  properly.  There,  that  is  it.  [Rises  and 
stands  surveying  the  two  wraps.]  Which  shall  I  wear? 
[BONNET  draws  back  for  a  critical  view,  but  dares  not 
suggest  unprompted.]  The  blue  is  prettier,  but  the  gray 
with  ermine  is  more  becoming.  Oh,  Bonny,  decide  for 
me  quickly,  like  a  tossed-up  penny! 

BONNET.  Well,  I  think  now  I  should  say  the  blue  one, 
ma'am. 

MRS.  D.  [musing].  Should  you?  But  I  look  less 
well  in  it.  Surely  I  would  rather  look  pretty  myself  than 


290  THE  HUNDRED 

have  my  dress  look  pretty,  wouldn't  I?  Give  me  the 
gray,  and  hurry.  Mr.  Goodhue  will  be  here  in  a  second. 
.  .  .  Bonnet,  you  trying  creature !  Didn't  I  tell  you  to 
put  a  hook  and  eye  in  the  neck  of  this?  Didn't  I  tell 
you?  Where  are  your  ears?  Where  are  your  senses? 
What  on  earth  do  you  spend  your  time  thinking  about, 
I  should  like  to  know,  anyway?  I  wouldn't  wear  that 

thing  as  it  is,  not  for — not  for Oh,  I'm  tired  of 

living  surrounded  by  fools !  Take  it  away — take  it  away ! 
Bring  the  other  one.  .  .  .  Now,  button  my  gloves.  [Looks 
at  herself  in  the  glass,  passively  letting  BONNET  take  one 
of  her  arms  to  button  the  glove.  Murmurs.]  Ouch! 
Go  softly;  you  pinch!  [BONNET  changes  her  method, 
and  pulls  very  gently.  Louder.]  Ouch!  You  pinch 
me!  [BONNET  stops  short,  looks  helplessly  at  the  glove, 
casts  up  her  eyes  as  if  appealing  to  heaven,  then  tries 
again.] 

MRS.  D.  [screams].  Ouch,  ouch,  ouch!  You  pinch 
like  anything!  I'm  black  and  blue!  [Tears  her  arm  from 
the  quaking  BONNET,  fidgets  with  the  button,  and  pulls 
it  off.]  Bonnet,  how  many  times  must  I  tell  you  to  sew 
the  buttons  fast  on  my  gloves  before  you  give  them  to 
me  to  put  on?  .  .  .  No,  they  were  not!  [Pulls  off  the 
glove  and  throws  it  far  across  the  room.  A  knock  at  the 
door.] 

MAN'S  VOICE  [respectfully].  Mr.  Goodhue  is  below, 
ma'am. 

MRS.  D.  [humbly,  like  a  child  reminded  of  its  promise 
to  behave].  Get  another  pair,  and  let  me  go.  [Tucks 
a  final  rose,  or  bunch  of  violets  into  the  bosom  of  her 
dress,  turns  to  leave  the  room,  then  pauses  to  draw  back 
the  curtains  and  look  at  the  dolls.  Speaks  gushingly.] 
Aren't  they  lovely,  the  hundred  of  them?  Did  you  ever 


THE  HUNDRED  291 

see  such  a  sight?    One  prettier  than  the  other!    I  almost 
wish  I  were  one  of  the  little  girls,  myself! 

BONNET.  Them  that  gets  them  will  be  made  happy, 
surely,  ma'am.  I  suppose  it's  for  some  Christmas  Tree? 
MRS.  D.  They  are  for  my  cousin  Dorel's  Orphans. 
Pick  up,  Bonny.  Open  the  windows.  Mind  you  tell 
Jackson  to  look  at  the  furnace.  I  shall  not  be  very  late — 
not  later  than  twelve.  [Exit.} 

[BONNET  moves  briskly  about,  straightening 
the  room,  with  no  affectation  of  soft- 
stepping.  She  digresses  from  her  labors 
to  get  a  black  skirt  from  the  bedroom, 
which  she  examines  critically,  then  replaces. 
A  knock. 

MAN'S  VOICE  [only  a  shade  less  respectful  than  before], 
Miss  Pittock  is  waiting  below,  ma'am. 

BONNET.  Very  well,  I'll  be  down  directly.  [Exit, 
and  re-enter  at  once  with  a  rather  old-fashioned  cloak 
and  bonnet,  which  she  dons  before  the  glass.}  I  hope  I 
haven't  kept  Miss  Pittock  waiting.  [Looks  contemptu- 
ously at  her  wrap.}  She  looks  quite  more  than  the  lady 
in  her  mistress's  last  year's  cape.  They  say  the  shops  is 
a  sight  to  behold  this  year — I  haven't  a  minute  to  get  a 
look  at  them  myself — and  it  do  seem  as  if  people  made 
more  to-do  about  Christmas  than  they  used.  I  wonder 
what  kind  of  shops  Miss  Pittock'll  fancy  most.  I'd  rather 
see  the  show-windows  in  the  Grand  Bazaar  first.  They 
do  have  the  most  amazing  show  there.  Anyway,  we've 
got  plenty  of  time.  Her  lady  won't  be  home  before 
twelve,  and  no  more  will  mine.  [Turns  down  gas,  and 
exit.} 

[Enter  CATHERINE,  in  a  coat,  with  jet  span- 
gles and  a  hat  with  nodding  plumes. 


292  THE  HUNDRED 

Turns  up  gas,  and  looks  about  her  while 
drawing  on  a  pair  of  tight  gloves.  Enter 
SALLY  and  TIBBIE  in  outdoor  wraps, 
shawls,  and  "  comforters." 

SALLY.  Oh,  Miss  Catherine,  I  didn't  know  where 
you  was.  I  thought  maybe  you  was  gone. 

TIBBIE  [hanging  back].  You  didn't  tell  me!  You 
didn't  tell  me ! 

CATHERINE.  Now  you'll  be  sure  she  don't  touch  any- 
thing, Sally.  [Looks  TIBBIE  over.] 

SALLY.  Naw!  She  won't  hurt  anything.  I've  told 
her  I'd  skin  her  if  she  did. 

CATHERINE.  Are  her  hands  clean?  You'd  better  give 
them  a  wash,  anyhow. 

[TiBBiE  drops  her  eyes,  a  little  mortified. 

SALLY.    All  right.    I'll  wash  'em. 

CATHERINE.  Did  she  scrape  her  boots  thoroughly  on 
the  mat  before  she  came  up? 

SALLY.  I  looked  after  all  that,  Miss  Catherine.  Just 
you  go  along  with  an  easy  mind. 

CATHERINE.  Well,  I'm  off.  I  won't  be  long  gone. 
Why  don't  you  give  her  a  piece  of  that  cake?  It's  cut. 
But  don't  let  her  make  any  crumbs.  Here,  give  me  your 
things.  I'll  take  'em  down  to  the  kitchen.  Good-by, 
little  girl.  I  guess  you  never  was  in  a  house  like  this 
before.  Good-by,  Sal.  Is  my  hat  on  straight?  [Exit 
with  coats.] 

SALLY.     She's  particular,  ain't  she? 

TIBBIE.  I'd  just  as  soon  wash  them  again,  but  they're 
clean.  I  thought  you  said  she  was  gone  off  to  a  party, 
and  going  to  be  gone  till  real  late. 

SALLY  [plumps  down  to  contort  herself  in  comfort]. 
Law!  She  thought  it  was  Mis'  Darling  herself!  Law! 


THE  HUNDRED  293 

Law!  [TiBBiE  laughs,  too,  but  less  heartily.]  Now 
what'll  we  do  first?  Do  you  want  the  treat  right  off? 

TIBBIE.  Oh,  lemme  guess,  first,  Sal,  and  tell  me  when 
I'm  hot!  Is  it  made  of  sugar? 

SALLY.     No,  it  ain't. 

TIBBIE.     But  you  said  it  was  a  treat,  didn't  you,  Sally? 

SALLY.  I  did  that.  But  ain't  there  treats  and  treats? 
There's  goin'  to  the  circus,  for  instance.  That  hasn't  any 
sugar. 

TIBBIE.     Is  it  a  circus,  Sally?    Is  it  a  circus? 

SALLY.     No,  it  ain't  a  circus,  but  it's  every  bit  as  nice. 

TIBBIE.  Is  it  freaks,  Sally?  Oh,  tell  me  if  it's  freaks! 
It  isn't?  Are  you  sure  I'll  like  it  very  much?  It's  noth- 
ing to  eat,  and  it's  nothing  I  can  have  to  keep,  and  it's 
not  a  circus.  What  color  is  it?  You'll  answer  straight, 
won't  you? 

SALLY.  Oh,  it's  every  color  in  the  world,  and  striped, 
and  polka-dotted,  and  crinkled,  and  smooth.  There's  a 
hundred  of  it. 

TIBBIE  [rapturously].     Oh! 

SALLY  [takes  her  hand].  Come  along  now,  I'm  going 
to  wash  your  hands  in  Mrs.  Darling's  basin.  Ain't  it 
handsome?  [Pokes  the  scented  soap  under  the  nose  of 
TIBBIE,  who  sniffs  delightedly.]  Flowers  on  the  chiny, 
too.  [Washes  TIBBIE'S  hands  while  they  talk.]  Did  you 
get  anything  for  Christmas  yet,  Tibbie?  [TiBBiE  moves 
her  head  slowly  up  and  down,  absorbed  in  the  process 
of  washing.]  What  did  you  get? 

TIBBIE.  A  doll's  flatiron  an'  a  muslin  bag  of  candy. 
I  put  the  iron  on  to  heat  and  it  melted.  I  gave  what  was 
left  to  Jimmy. 

SALLY.     Who  gave  them  to  3'ou? 

TIBBIE.     Off    the     Sunday-school    tree.      But    there 


294  THE  HUNDRED 

weren't  no  lights  on  it  because  it  was  daytime.  Sally,  I 
know  something  that  has  a  hundred 

SALLY.     What's  that?    Let's  see  if  you've  got  it  now? 

TIBBIE  [shamefacedly] .     A  dollar — is  a  hundred  cents. 

SALLY.  Well,  and  would  I  be  bringing  you  so  far  just 
to  show  you  a  dollar  ?  This  is  worth  as  much  as  a  dollar, 
every  individual  one  of  them.  Tibbie,  it's  just  the 
grandest  sight  you  ever  seen — pink  and  blue  and  yellow 
and  striped 

TIBBIE  [after  looking  her  fixedly  in  the  jace,  now 
almost  shouts].  It's  marbles! 

SALLY.  Aw,  but  you're  downright  stupid,  Tibbie!  I 
don't  mind  telling  you  I'm  disappointed.  You're  just 
a  common,  everyday  sort  of  a  young  one,  with  no  idear 
of  grandness  in  your  idears,  at  all!  And  you  don't  seem 
to  keep  a  hold  on  more  than  one  notion  at  a  time.  First 
it's  a  dollar.  Is  that  pink  and  blue?  And  next  it's  mar- 
bles. Is  marbles  worth  a  dollar  apiece?  Now  tell  me 
what's  the  grandest,  prettiest  thing  ever  you  saw 

TIBBIE.     .  .   .  Angels. 

SALLY.     D'you  ever  see  any? 

TIBBIE.     In  the  church-window,  painted. 

SALLY.  Well,  this  is  as  handsome  as  a  hundred  angels, 
less  than  a  foot  tall,  all  in  new  clothes,  with  little  hats  on. 

TIBBIE.  Sally,  I  think  I  know,  now.  Only  it  couldn't 
be  that.  There  couldn't  likely  be  a  hundred  of  them 
altogether,  for  it  isn't  a  store  you  brought  me  to!  You 
didn't  tell  me  we  were  going  to  a  store. 

SALLY.  No  more  it  is.  We're  going  to  stay  right 
here  in  Mrs.  Darling's  house,  and  no  place  but  here. 

TIBBIE  [faintly,  looking  all  about].  But  where  is 
there  a  hundred  of  anything? 

SALLY.     Oh,  this  ain't  it,  yet!     This  is  only  like  the 


THE  HUNDRED  295 

outside  entry.  Now,  Miss  Tibbs,  what  kind  of  scent 
will  you  have  on  your  hands? 

TIBBIE.     Oh,  Sal! 

SALLY  [at  dresser].  Shall  it  be  Violet,  or  Roossian 
Empress,  or — what's  this  other? — Lilass  Blank?  or  the 
anatomizer  played  over  them  like  the  garden  hose? 
[They  unstop  the  bottles  in  turn,  and  draw  up  great, 
noisy,  luxurious  breaths.] 

TIBBIE.  This,  Sally,  this  one  with  a  double  name,  like 
a  person.  [SALLY  pours  a  drop  in  each  hand,  and  TIBBIE 
dances  as  she  rubs  them  together.]  Why  are  the  little 
scissors  crooked?  [Busily  picks  up  things  one  after  the 
other].  What  for  is  the  fluting-irons?  What  for  is  the 
butter  in  the  little  chiny  jar?  What's  the  flour  for  in 
the  silver  box?  Oh,  what's  this?  Oh,  Sal,  what's  that? 

SALLY.  It's  to  make  you  pale.  It  ain't  fashionable 
to  be  red.  [Picks  up  powder-puff,  and  gives  TIBBIE, 
who  draws  back  startled  and  coughing,  a  dusty  dab  on 
each  cheek,  then  applies  it  to  her  own.  The  two  stand 
gazing  in  silent  interest  at  themselves  in  the  mirror, 
gradually  breaking  into  smiles.  SALLY  suddenly  hitches 
first  one  shoulder,  then  the  other,  and  brushes  her  face 
clean,  TIBBIE  faithfully  aping  her  movements.  Then 
they  look  at  themselves  again] 

TIBBIE.     But  I  ain't  pale,  anyhow. 

SALLY.     Law!  that  you  ain't! 

TIBBIE.  Who's  the  gentleman,  Sal,  in  the  pretty 
frame  ? 

SALLY.  That's  Mrs.'s  husband.  He  ain't  been  living 
some  time. 

TIBBIE.     Oh,  he  ain't  living. 

SALLY.  Now,  Tibbs,  I'm  going  to  get  you  that  cake 
before  I  show  you  the  Hundred.  You  wait  here.  But 


296  THE  HUNDRED 

don't  you  hurt  anything,  or  I'll  skin  you  sure,  like  I  told 
Miss  Catherine.     And  whatever  you  do,  don't  you  look 
behind  that  curtain  till  I  come  back. 
TIBBIE.     Is  the  Hundred  there? 
SALLY.     Yes,  it's  there.     [Exit.] 

[TiBBiE  looks  at  the  curtain  for  a  moment, 
then  turns  to  examine  other  wonders. 
Strokes  the  soft  cushions,  etc.,  with  the 
palm  of  her  hand,  which  she  frequently 
stops  to  smell.  Gazes  at  the  photo  of  the 
REVEREND  DOREL. 

TIBBIE.  He  looks  like  a  real  kind,  good  man.  I'm 
going  to  ask  Sally  if  she  knows  him.  [Sits  down  on  the 
floor  and  strokes  the  fur  rug.  Enter  SALLY  with  cake- 
box.  TIBBIE  chooses  gravely,  then  speaks  with  her  mouth 
full.]  I  never  tasted  any  cake  like  this  before. 
M-m-m-m!  Say,  Sally,  this  big  thing's  'most  as  good  as 
a  dog.  It's  so  soft  I'd  like  to  sleep  on  it. 

SALLY  [with  feigned  coldness].  Oh,  all  right!  I 
don't  think  we'll  bother  any  more  about  seeing  The 
Hundred. 

TIBBIE.     I  had  forgotten,  honest,  Sally. 
SALLY.     Eat  your  cake,  and  come  along,  then. 
TIBBIE  [jumping  up].     Can't  I  take  it,  in  my  hand? 
SALLY.     No,   for  when  you  see  'em,   you'll  drop   it 
quick  all  over  the  floor. 

TIBBIE  [hurrying  it  down].     All  right.     I  will. 
SALLY.     Wait  a  minute.    You  turn  your  back,  and  I'll 
go  and  open  the  curtains.     When  I  sing  out,  you  turn 
around. 

[TiBBiE  stands  facing  audience,  hands  clasped 

tightly  in  impatience. 
SALLY.     Ready ! 


THE  HUNDRED  297 

[TIBBIE  gives  one  bound,  then  stops  short 
quite  overcome. 

SALLY  [expectantly}.  Well,  ma'am?  [TIBBIE  stands 
gazing,  unable  to  speak.}  Well,  I  never!  Don't  you 
like  'em?  What  on  earth  did  you  expect,  child?  Well, 
I  never!  Well,  if  it  don't  beat  all!  Why,  when  I  was 

a  young  one Why,  Tibbie,  girl — don't  you  think 

they're  lovely? 

TIBBIE  [whispers].  Yes.  [Nodding  her  head  slowly, 
then  letting  it  hang.] 

SALLY  [understanding].  Aw,  come  out  o'  that! 
Come,  let's  look  at  'em  one  by  one,  taking  all  our  time. 
Come  to  Sally,  darling,  and  don't  feel  bad.  We'll  have 
lots  of  fun.  [Takes  TIBBIE'S  hand  and  draws  her  nearer 
the  dolls,  then  sits  on  the  floor  and  pulls  TIBBIE  down 
into  her  lap.} 

TIBBIE.  I  had  almost  guessed  it,  you  know,  when 
you  said  like  angels  with  hats  on.  But  I  couldn't  think 
there  would  be  a  hundred  unless  it  was  a  store.  What 
has  the  lady  so  many  for? 

SALLY.  Bless  your  heart!  They  ain't  for  herself! 
They're  for  orphans  in  a  school  that  a  minister  cousin 
of  hers  is  superintendent  of.  She's  been  over  a  month 
making  these  clothes.  Every  Wednesday  she  would  give 
a  tea-party,  and  a  lot  of  ladies  come  stitching  and  snipping 
and  buzzing  over  the  dolls'  clothes  the  blessed  afternoon. 
And  I  washed  the  tea  things  after  them  all! 

TIBBIE.  They  are  for  the  orphans.  Are  there  a  hun- 
dred orphans? 

SALLY.     Oh,  I  guess  likely. 

TIBBIE.  Suppose,  Sally — suppose  there  were  only 
ninety-nine,  and  some  girl  got  two! 

SALLY.     Well,  we  two  have  got  a  hundred   for  to- 


2g8  THE  HUNDRED 

night,  Tibbie,  so  let's  play,  and  glad  enough  we've  got 
our  mothers.  Look,  this  is  the  way  you  must  hold  them 
to  be  sure  and  not  crumple  anything.  [SALLY  slips  her 
hand  under  a  doll's  petticoats,  and  they  peep  at  the  dainty 
underclothes.  SALLY  spurs  on  TIBBIE'S  enthusiasm  by  the 
tones  of  her  voice,  making  the  wonder  more,  to  fill  the 
child's  soul  to  intoxication.  TIBBIE  easily  responds, 
fairly  rocking  herself  to  and  fro  with  delight.] 

SALLY.  My  soul  and  body!  Did  you  ever  see  the 
like!  [Sighs.]  And  not  a  pin  among  'em.  All  pearl 
buttons,  and  silk  tying-strings,  and  silver  hooks  and  eyes; 
and,  mercy  on  my  soul!  a  little  bit  of  a  pocket  in  every 
dress,  with  its  little  bit  of  a  lace  pocket-handkerchief  in- 
side. D'you  see  that,  Tibbie? 

TIBBIE  [breathlessly].     Oh,  Sally!    Oh,  Sally  I 

SALLY.  Come  on,  Tibbie;  let's  choose  the  one  we 
would  choose  to  get  if  we  was  to  get  one  given  us.  Now 
I  would  like  that  one  in  red  velvet.  It's  just  so  dressy, 
ain't  it,  with  the  gold  braid  sewed  down  in  a  pattern 
round  the  bottom.  Which  would  you  take  ? 

TIBBIE.  I  should  like  the  one  all  in  white.  She  must 
be  a  bride;  see,  she  has  a  wreath  and  veil  and  necklace. 
I  should  like  her  the  very  best.  But  right  after  that,  if 
I  could  have  two,  I  should  like  this  other  in  the  shade 
hat  with  the  forget-me-nots  wreath,  and  forget-me-nots 
dotted  all  over  her  dress.  And,  see!  the  sky-blue  ribbon. 
If  I  could  just  have  three,  then  I  would  take  this  one, 
too,  with  the  black  lace  shawl  over  her  head,  fastened 
with  roses,  instead  of  a  hat.  She  has  such  a  lovely  face! 
And  after  her  I  would  choose  this  one  in  green — or  this 
one  in  pink;  no,  this  one  here,  Sally;  just  look — this  one 
in  green  and  pink.  And  you — if  you  could  have  more 
than  one,  which  would  you  choose,  after  the  red  one? 


THE  HUNDRED 

SALLY.  Well,  I  guess  I  should  choose  this  one  in 
white. 

TIBBIE.  Oh,  no,  Sally,  don't  you  remember?  That 
is  the  bride,  the  one  I  said  the  very  first.  You  can  have 
all  the  others,  Sally  dear,  except  the  bride.  But  let's  see, 
perhaps  there  are  two  brides.  Yes! — no! — that  is  just 
a  little  girl  in  white,  without  a  wreath.  Should  you  like 
her  as  well?  I  was  the  first  to  say  the  bride,  you  know. 

SALLY.  Law!  I  wouldn't  have  wanted  her  if  I'd 
known  she  was  a  bride!  I  take  this  one,  Tibbie — this 
one  with  feathers  in  her  hat.  Ain't  she  the  gay  girl  in 
red  and  green  plaid?  And  this  purple  silk  one,  and  this 
red  and  white  stripe,  and  this 

TIBBIE.  Wait!  That's  enough;  Sally,  that  makes 
four  for  you.  It's  my  turn  now.  If  I  could  have  five, 
I  should  take  one  of  the  rosebud  ones — no,  two  of  them, 
so's  to  play  I  had  twins.  Say,  Sally,  what  if  we  could 
choose  one  apiece — first  you  one,  and  then  me  one,  till 
we'd  chosen  them  all  up,  and  got  fifty  apiece ! 

SALLY.  What  if  we  could!  Wouldn't  that  be  just 
grand !  Tell  us  some  more  you'd  take. 

TIBBIE  [pointing  and  speaking  at  first  slowly  and 
meditatively,  then  more  and  more  quickly],  I'd  take 
this  darling  blue  girl,  and  this  yellow  one,  and  this  cun- 
ning little  spotted  one,  and  this,  and  this,  and  this,  and 

this,  and  this Oh,  Sally,  if  it  was  only  real,  and 

not  just  let's-pretend !  Now  it's  your  turn. 

SALLY  [placing  her  forefinger  pensively  against  the  side 
of  her  nose].  For  my  fifth  one,  I  choose  her — her  with 
the  little  black  velvets  run  all  through. 

TIBBIE  [promptly].     Taken  already. 

SALLY.  Then  her  over  there  with  the  short  puffy 
sleeves. 


300  THE  HUNDRED 

TIBBIE.    Taken ! 

SALLY.  She  taken,  too?  Well,  then,  her  in  the  pink 
Mother  Hubbard,  with  the  little  knitting-bag  on  her  arm. 

TIBBIE.  Taken,  Sally!  Can't  you  remember  any- 
thing? Those  belong  to  me;  I  chose  them  long  ago. 
These  are  the  not  taken  ones  over  here;  here,  and  here, 
and  here,  and  here,  and  here,  and  here,  and 

SALLY.  Aw,  you're  a  great  girl!  [Suddenly  throws 
her  arms  around  TIBBIE  and  casts  herself  back  on  the 
floor,  where  they  tumble  and  roll  in  a  frenzy  of  fun.] 
Oh,  Tibbie,  ain't  we  having  a  time  of  it? 

TIBBIE  [almost  shouting].  Yes! — ain't  we  having  a 
time  of  it! 

SALLY.     Ain't  this  a  night? 

TIBBIE.  Oh,  yes, — ain't  it  a  night!  [They  tickle  and 
poke  each  other  until  almost  hysterical.  At  last  TIBBIE 
disentangles  herself  from  the  panting  and  laughing  SALLY, 
and  gets  up.]  Here,  Sally,  now  stop  laughing,  and  let's 
go  on.  It  was  your  turn.  You'd  best  take  that  one. 
She  looks  as  if  she  might  be  a  little  girl  of  yours,  her 
cheeks  are  so  red — red  as  a  great  big  cabbage!  [Laughs 
till  she  nearly  cries] 

SALLY.  Well,  it's  sure  none  of  'em  has  legs  to  make 
'em  look  like  children  of  yours!  [At  this  TIBBIE  flings 
out  her  thin  black  legs  with  the  action  of  a  young  colt, 
and  drops  to  the  floor,  where  they  frolic  as  before.  In 
the  midst  of  their  gale  of  mirth,  a  bell  rings.  They  sit 
up,  and  look  at  each  other  in  silent  consternation.] 

SALLY  [after  a  pause,  in  a  solemn  whisper].     Murder! 

TIBBIE  [in  her  ear].     What  is  it? 

SALLY.     Was  it  the  front  door  or  the  back  door? 

TIBBIE.  I  dunno,  Sally.  [SALLY  picks  herself  up,  and 
casts  a  hurried  glance  on  the  dolls  and  about  the  room, 


THE  HUNDRED  301 

to  see  if  things  are  nearly  as  she  found  them,  then  turns 
down  the  light.    Leads  TIBBIE  to  bedroom  door.] 

SALLY  [glancing  at  clock].  It  ain't  late.  It  ain't  a 
bit  later  than  I  supposed.  It  can't  be  her!  It  might  be 
Mrs.  Bonnet,  though,  getting  home  before  Catherine, 
who's  got  the  key.  I  shouldn't  want  her  to  catch  you 
here  for  the  whole  world.  Look  here,  Tibbie.  You 
stand  in  here  till  I  find  out  who  it  is,  and  if  it's  Mrs. 
Bonnet,  you'll  have  to  stay  hidden  till  I  find  a  good 
chance  to  come  and  smuggle  you  down.  [Pushes  TIBBIE 
through  door,  and  exit  by  other  door.  TIBBIE  very  cau- 
tiously pokes  her  head  out  and  looks  around.] 

TIBBIE.  What's  that  scratching?  I  know  there's  a 
mouse  here  somewhere.  Go  right  away,  mousie.  There's 
nobody  in  here.  Go  right  away! 

SALLY  [without.  Her  voice  calm,  and  pleasant  with 
a  kind  of  company  pleasantness].  Tibbie!  It's  all  right. 
It's  just  a  friend  dropped  in  for  a  moment.  You  can 
play  a  little  longer.  Turn  up  the  light  carefully.  But 
remember  what  I  told  you. 

[Enter  TIBBIE  at  the  first  sound  of  SALLY'S 
voice.     Turns  up  the  light,  draws  back  the 
curtain   in  front  of  the  dolls,  and  kneels 
before  them.     Takes  up  the  bride  with  a 
reverent  hand,  and  after  long  contemplat- 
ing her,  kisses  her  very  seriously  and  ten- 
derly.    Then    moves    the    dolls    about    to 
bring  those  she  has  chosen  closer  together. 
TIBBIE  [meditatively],     I  can't  play  they  are  a  family, 
there  are  too  many  all  the  same  age  and  all  girls.     I  will 
play  they  are  a  hundred  girls  in  an  orphan  asylum — a 
very   rich  orphan   asylum — and   that  I  am   the  superin- 
tendent.    To-morrow  I'm  going  to  give  each  a  beautiful 


302  THE  HUNDRED 

doll  for  a  Christmas  present.  This  little  girl's  name  is 
Rosa.  That  one  is  Nellie.  That  one  is  Katie.  That 
one  is  Sue.  And  Mary.  And  Jennie.  And  Ethel,  and 
Victoria,  and  Blossom,  and  Violet,  and  Pansy,  and 

Goldenlocks,  and  Cherrylips Oh,  dear,  I  know  I  can 

never  name  them  all.  There  surely  ain't  enough  names 
to  go  around  and  I'd  just  have  to  make  up  names  for 
them.  Kirry,  Mirry,  Dirry,  Birry!  These  don't  sound 
like  anything.  I  wonder  what  they  do  every  day  in 
orphan  asylums.  They  must  have  school  and  learn  les- 
sons, I  guess.  I'll  be  the  teacher,  now.  Miss  Snowdrop! 
[TiBBiE  assists  the  dolls  to  move,  and  answers  for  them 
in  a  squeaking  little  voice.]  "  Yes,  ma'am."  Spell  knot. 
"  N-o-t."  Not  at  all,  my  dear.  Sit  down  again,  my 
dear.  Miss  Lily;  stand  up,  miss,  and  see  if  you  can  do 
any  better  this  morning.  Miss  Pansy,  I  see  you  putting 
your  foot  out  to  trip  poor  Miss  Blossom.  Don't  you  do 
that  again,  child,  or  I  shall  have  to  stand  you  in  the 
corner.  Why,  Rosy,  how  red  your  cheeks  are!  Don't 
you  feel  well?  "  No,  ma'am."  Never  mind,  don't  cry. 
I  must  take  you  to  the  doctor's  right  away.  Come,  my 
dear.  [Goes  to  dresser  and  looks  in  glass.]  Good-morn- 
ing, doctor.  "  Good-morning,  ma'am  "  [in  a  deep  voice]  ; 
"  you've  got  a  sick  child  there,  I  see."  Yes,  doctor,  this 
is  a  young  lady  from  the  orphan  asylum,  and  she  says 
she's  got  a  bad  pain  in  her  face.  "  Yes,  yes.  I  see,  I 
see.  Well,  we'll  give  her  something  to  cure  those  red 
cheeks  right  up.  Just  come  here,  miss."  [TiBBiE,  as  the 
doctor,  powders  the  doll's  cheeks  very  gently.]  Very 
well.  Good-by,  doctor.  "  Good-by,  ma'am.  If  she  isn't 
better  in  fifteen  minutes,  let  me  know."  Now,  my  dear, 
you  needn't  go  back  to  school.  The  orphans  might  catch 
it.  I'd  like  to  rock  you  in  my  arms,  but  the  superin- 


THE  HUNDRED  303 

tendent  is  too  busy.  .  .  .  Oh,  dear,  I  don't  like  to  be  a 
superintendent.  I  think  I'll  have  you  for  my  little  girl 
[draws  forward  a  low  rocker  and  carefully  turns  down 
light},  and  get  you  some  nice  little  sisters  [gathers  a 
dozen  dolls],  and  then  rock  you  all  to  sleep.  [Settles 
comfortably  in  the  chair.]  It's  bedtime,  and  you  must  be 
rocked  and  loved  a  little.  Now,  sh!  Sh!  Sh!  Sh! 
What's  that,  Mamie?  Sing  to  you?  Very  well. 
[Sings.]  Rosie,  what  are  you  crying  for  now?  You 
want  me  to  rock  faster?  All  right,  I  will.  [Rocks 
faster.  Rosie  continues  to  cry,  and  the  rocking  soon  be- 
comes furious.  In  the  excitement  one  doll  slips  unnoticed 
to  the  floor.]  There,  that's  better.  Now,  children,  do 
go  to  sleep.  .  .  .  Mother  is  sleepy  herself.  [Rocking 
becomes  slower  and  slower,  and  at  last  stops  entirely. 
TIBBIE  falls  asleep.  .  .  .  Enter  SALLY.] 

SALLY.  Lively,  Tibbie!  Miss  Catherine  has  got  back. 
We  must  be  packing  off  home.  I  declare  I  lost  sight  of 
the  time.  There's  just  no  one  like  a  fireman  to  be  en- 
tertaining, I  do  declare.  Mrs.  Bonnet  won't  be  long 
coming  now.  [Turns  up  light,  sees  TIBBIE  rubbing  her 
eyes,  and  the  dolls  all  disarranged.  Blankly.]  Law!  do 
you  suppose  we  can  get  them  to  look  as  they  did  ?  I  hope 
t'  Heaven  she  didn't  know  which  went  next  to  which. 
Do  you  remember,  Tibbie,  where  they  all  belonged? 

TIBBIE.  Yes,  the  bride  went  here.  The  rosebuds 
here.  The  purple  and  gray  here.  I  can  put  them  all 
back,  every  one. 

SALLY  [cheerfully,  again].  No  one'll  ever  know  in 
the  world  they've  been  disturbed.  \Draws  off  to  get 
general  effect.  Dives  for  the  last  doll,  which  TIBBIE 
sleepily  hands  up  from  the  floor.] 

SALLY    [in  a  ghastly  whisper].     Tibbie!  look   at  its 


304  THE  HUNDRED 

head!  [TiBBiE  gazes  in  a  puzzled  way.  The  face  is 
crushed.  SALLY  groans.]  Oh,  Tibbie!  now  what'll  we 
do! 

TIBBIE  [truthfully,  lifting  a  very  pale  face].  I  didn't 
do  it!  I  was  just  as  careful!  She  was  one  of  my  daugh- 
ters. I  had  her  in  my  lap,  rocking  her  to  sleep 
with  the  others;  she  slipped  off  my  lap — there  were 
too  many  for  one  lap,  I  guess — but  I  didn't  step 
on  her.  Sure,  Sally, — sure  as  I  live,  I  didn't  step  on 
her! 

SALLY.  Oh,  law!  You  must  have  rocked  on  her. 
Oh,  Tibbie,  what'll  I  do?  Here,  give  her  to  me.  .  .  . 
No,  she  can't  never  be  fixed.  I  wonder  if  I  can  cover 
her  up,  here.  [Moves  the  dolls  about  tentatively.]  But 
what's  the  good?  They'll  count  them,  and  there'll  be 
the  mischief  of  a  fuss.  Oh,  Tibbie — [reaching  the  end 
of  her  good-nature] — why  did  I  ever  think  of  bringing 
you  here?  Now  look  at  all  the  trouble  you've  brought 
on  me,  when  I  thought  you'd  be  so  careful !  And  I  told 
you  and  told  you  till  I  was  hoarse.  And  here  you've 
ruined  all!  [Drops  into  a  chair  before  the  wreck.  TIB- 
BIE, not  daring  to  meet  SALLY'S  eyes,  stands  motionless 
and  speechless]  I  declare  I  don't  know  what  to  do!  I 
wish  I'd  never  seen  'em!  I  wish  there'd  never  been  any 
Christmas!  Oh,  it's  a  great  job,  this!  Tibbie,  you've 
done  for  me  this  time!  [Enter  CATHERINE. 

CATHERINE.     Hurry,  and  get  off,  now,  Sally. 

SALLY  [blurts  out].     She's  broken  one  of  them! 

CATHERINE.     You  don't  mean  it! 

SALLY.     Yes,  she  has! 

CATHERINE.  Let  me  see  it.  Oh,  you  wicked  child! 
[Shakes  TIBBIE  vigorously  by  one  arm.  SALLY,  attempt- 
ing a  rescue,  seizes  her  by  the  other,  and  the  poor  child 


THE  HUNDRED  305 

is  jerked  about   unmercifully.]      She's  smashed    its  face 
right  in!     Now,  whoever  heard  of  such  naughtiness? 

[TiBBiE  escapes  and  twists  about  to  get  her 
back  to  the  two. 

SALLY.  She  didn't  do  it  out  of  naughtiness,  at  all, 
Miss  Catherine.  She's  as  good  a  child  as  ever  lived! 
[TIBBIE'S  shoulders  give  a  convulsive  heave,]  It  was 
an  accident  entirely.  But  that's  just  as  bad  for  me — I 
suppose  I  shall  have  to  say  it  was  me  did  it. 

CATHERINE.  And  then  they'll  say  what  was  I  doing 
while  the  kitchen-help  was  poking  about  in  the  lady's 
chamber.  No;  you  don't  get  me  into  no  trouble,  Sally 
Bean!  You'd  much  better  say  how  it  was — how  that 
you  asked  me  if  you  just  might  bring  a  little  girl  to  look, 
and  I  said  you  might,  out  of  pure  good-nature,  being 
Christmas  is  rightly  for  children,  and  I've  a  softness  for 
them.  And  while  we  was  both  in  the  kitchen,  she  slipped 
away  from  us,  and  come  here  and  done  it  before  we  knew. 
And  the  child  will  say  herself  that  it  was  so.  You'll  be 
packed  off,  dead  sure,  out  of  this  place,  if  you  let  on 
you  meddled  with  them  yourself.  She  won't  have  her 

things  meddled  with There!  I  hear  the  door  now. 

There  comes  that  old  cat  Bonnet. 

[Enter  MRS.  BONNET,  her  cheek  bones  and 
the  end  of  her  nose  brilliant  with  the  cold. 
She  carries  a  paper  bag,  and  speaks  with 
an  impediment  and  a  breath  of  peppermint. 

BONNET.     What's  the  matter?    What  child  is  that? 

CATHERINE.  It  happened  this  way,  Mrs.  Bonnet.  I 
allowed  Sally  to  fetch  this  child  up  to  see  Mrs.  Darling's 
dolls. — Just  for  a  treat,  of  course — never  thinking  Sally 'd 
be  so  careless  as  to  let  one  of  them  get  broken.  But  that's 
what  she  done.  I'd  just  stepped  out  for  a  moment,  never 


306  THE  HUNDRED 

for  a  minute  supposing  anything  like  this  could  happen, 
but  you  just  see  for  yourself.  That  doll  can't  be  mended 
no  way  at  all.  And  now,  Mrs.  Bonnet,  what's  to  be  done? 

BONNET.  Oh,  you  wicked  little  brat!  I  just  want  to 
get  hold  of  you  and  shake  you!  [Makes  a  snatch  at 
TIBBIE,  who  gets  beyond  her  clutch,  and  turns  scared 
eyes  on  SALLY.] 

TIBBIE  [just  audibly}.  I  want  to  go  home;  I  want  to 
go  home. 

BONNET  [bitterly'}.  It  don't  seem  possible  that  I  can 
run  out  a  minute  just  to  do  an  errand  for  Mrs.  Darling 
herself — to  get  a  spool  of  feather-stitching  silk — but 
things  like  this  has  to  happen.  Catherine,  I  thought  you 
at  least  was  a  responsible  person,  and  here  you  has  to 
go  and 

CATHERINE  [promptly].  Mrs.  Bonnet,  you  just  let 
that  alone!  Don't  you  try  none  of  that  with  me!  I 
went  out  of  an  errand  every  bit  as  much  as  you  did.  I 
went  out  to  make  sure  the  ice  cream  would  be  sent  in 
good  season  for  Christmas  dinner,  I  did.  Now  I  don't 
get  dragged  into  this  mess  one  bit  more  than  you  do ! 

BONNET  [looking  at  her  with  a  poison-green  eye\. 
Well,  Mrs.  Darling  will  be  here  in  a  minute,  and  then 
we  shall  see  what  we  shall  see.  Land,  ain't  that  woman 
been  cross  to-day,  and  fussy!  'Tain't  as  if  she  was  like 
other  people — a  little  bit  sensible,  and  could  take  some 
little  few  things  into  consideration,  and  remember  we're 
all  human  flesh  and  blood.  Not  much!  She  don't  con- 
sider nothing,  nor  nobody,  nor  feelings,  nor  circum- 
stances! She  just  makes  things  fly!  Things  has  to  go 
her  way,  every  time! 

TIBBIE  [pathetically,  turning  a  trembling  face  to 
SALLY],  I  want  to  go  home! 


THE  HUNDRED  307 

BONNET  [uglily'}.  No,  you  shan't  go  home!  You 
shall  stay  right  here  and  take  the  blame  you  deserve, 
after  spoiling  the  face  of  that  handsome  doll.  What  do 
you  mean  by  it,  you  little  brat,  you  little  gutter-imp! 

SALLY  [with  a  boldness  new  in  her  relations  with  MRS. 
BONNET].  You  let  her  alone,  Mrs.  Bonnet!  Don't 
you  talk  to  her  like  that!  Anyone  can  see  she's  as  sorry 
as  sorry  can  be  for  what  she's  done,  and  all  the  trouble 
she's  got  us  into [CooK  appears  in  door.} 

BONNET.  And  what  does  that  help,  I'd  like  to  know? 
The  doll  is  broke,  ain't  it?  And  some  one  of  us  is  going 
to  catch  it,  however  things  go.  You're  a  lucky  girl,  I 
say,  if  you  don't  lose  your  place.  Some  one  of  us  is 
a-going  to,  I  can  easy  foretell. 

CATHERINE  [firmly,  with  lifted  chin}.  I  ain't  going 
to  lose  my  place!  Here  comes  Cook  now!  I  suppose 
she  wants  to  get  into  trouble,  too. 

[Enter  COOK,  her  high-colored  shawl  pinned 
on  her  breast  with  a  big  brooch,  her 
bonnet-strings  nearly  lost  in  her  fat  chin. 

COOK.  What's  the  matter?  What's  it  all  about? 
Whose  nice  little  girl  is  this? 

SALLY.  I  brought  her  here,  Mrs.  McGrath.  She's 
Tibbie,  a  neighbor's  child,  and  I  brought  her 

COOK.  To  see  them  beautiful  dolls.  Of  course.  And 
one  of  'em  happened  to  get  broke?  [Goes  to  TIBBIE, 
and  lifts  her  miserable  little  face.}  Don't  you  feel  bad 
one  bit,  darlin'!  It  was  all  an  accident,  and  it's  no 
good  crying  over  spilt  milk.  And  if  Mrs.  Darling  gets 
mad  at  you,  she  ain't  the  real  lady  I  take  her  for.  Why, 
I  gave  my  Clary  a  new  doll  this  very  evenin'  and  it's 
ready  for  a  new  head  this  minute.  And  did  I  go  for  to 
rare  and  tear  about  it?  Not  a  bit  of  it!  Why,  bless 


308  THE  HUNDRED 

you,  she  didn't  go  for  to  do  it!  Why,  what  child  smashes 
a  doll  a-purpose?  You're  a  pretty  set,  the  whole  gang 
of  you,  to  pitch  into  a  child!  {Tries,  with  SALLY,  to 
comfort  and  silence  TIBBIE,  who  by  this  time  is  freely 
weeping.  Exit  BONNET,  and  re-enter  at  once  without 
hat  and  coat.] 

•  COOK  {looking  hard  at  MRS.  BONNET].  I've  a  great 
mind  to  stay  here  myself  and  stand  up  for  her,  yer  pack  of 
old  maids,  the  lot  of  yer! 

BONNET.  You  will  oblige  me,  Mrs.  McGrath,  by 
doing  nothing  of  the  sort.  We've  no  need  to  have  a 
whole  scene  from  the  drama.  You've  no  business  on 
this  floor,  anyhow,  and  I  must  insist  on  your  keeping 
yourself  in  your  own  quarters. 

COOK  [mutters].  And  I'll  take  my  own  time,  yer 
born  Britisher!  [Putting  her  arm  around  TIBBIE.] 
Well,  Tibbie  dear,  you  can  be  sure  of  this:  however  bad 
this  seems,  it'll  soon  be  over.  And  if  Mrs.  Darling  scolds, 
that'll  soon  be  over,  too.  It'll  all  be  looking  different  to 
you  in  the  morning.  However  things  goes,  you'll  soon 
be  forgetting  all  about  it.  And  to-morrow  is  Christmas 
Day,  that  our  own  dear  Lord  was  born  on,  and  I'll  bake 
you  a  little  cake  and  send  it  to  you  by  Sally. 

TIBBIE  [sobbing].     But  Sally's  going  to  be  sent  away. 

COOK.  So  she  might  be,  but  I  feel  it  in  my  little  toe 
that  she  ain't  going  to  be. 

SALLY  [bravely].  Well,  if  I  am,  I  am,  and  there  an 
end.  But  I  don't  see  why  she  can't  take  the  price  of 
the  doll  out  of  my  wages  and  let  me  stay. 

BONNET.  I  think  you'll  find  that  it  ain't  most  par- 
ticularly the  cost  of  the  doll  gets  you  into  trouble 

There  she  comes  this  minute! 

[All  listen  in  profound  silence. 


THE  HUNDRED  309 

MRS.  D.  [below].     Good-night,  cousin  Dorel. 

MR.  GOODHUE  [below}.  Good-night,  cousin  Cyn- 
thia. Sleep  well. 

MRS.  D.  You,  too.  Pleasant  dreams.  Good-night. 
[Sound  of  door  closing.] 

[Enter  MRS.  DARLING.  Stands  a  moment  at 
door,  regarding  the  assemblage  with  a  sort 
of  absent-minded  astonishment. 

MRS.  D.  What  is  it?  Has  anything  happened? 
What  is  everybody  doing  up  here?  Whose  little  girl  is 
this  sitting  up  so  late?  They  used  to  tell  me  I  should 
never  grow,  my  dear,  if  I  sat  up  late 

BONNET.  This  is  what  it  is,  ma'am.  I  took  the  lib- 
erty of  stepping  out  for  a  few  moments,  it  being  Christ- 
mas Eve  and  my  work  all  done,  knowing  you  wouldn't 
be  needing  me  till  late.  And  Sally  here  took  it  upon 
herself  to  bring  a  child — how  she  could  presume  so,  I'm 
sure  7  don't  understand,  ma'am.  She  might  have  known 
aforehand  something  would  be  broken.  And  sure  enough 
— when  I  come  in 

MRS.  D.  Oh,  cut  it  short!  What  you  have  to  tell 
is  that  the  child  there  has  broken  one  of  the  dolls,  isn't  it? 

BONNET  [mutters].     That's  it,  ma'am. 

MRS.  D.  And  you've  kept  her  here  when  she  ought 
to  have  been  in  bed  these  hours,  to  bear  the  first  burst 

of  my  displeasure [MRS.  DARLING  says  so  much 

in  a  hard  voice,  with  an  appearance  of  cold  anger;  here 
her  voice  suddenly  dies,  and  she  bursts  out  crying  like  a 
vexed,  injured  child.]  I  declare  it's  too  bad!  [She  sobs, 
reckless  of  making  a  spectacle  of  herself,  while  all  look 
on  in  consternation.]  I  declare  it's  too  bad!  It's  no  use! 
It  doesn't  matter  what  I  do — it's  always  the  same!  It's 
always  taken  for  granted  that  I  will  conduct  myself  like 


3io  THE  HUNDRED 

a  beast.  Who  can  wonder,  after  that,  if  I  do?  Here  I 
find  them,  pale  as  sheets,  the  five  of  them  shaking  in  their 
boots,  because  a  forlorn  little  child  has  broken  a  misera- 
ble doll.  And  what  is  it  supposed  I  shall  do  about  it? 
Didn't  I  dress  the  hundred  of  them  for  children,  and 
little  poor  children,  too?  And  I  must  have  known  they 
would  get  broken,  of  course.  Why  did  I  dress  them? 
What  did  I  spend  months  dressing  them  for?  Solely  for 
show,  they  think, — not  for  any  charity,  any  kindness,  any 
love  of  children,  or  anything  in  the  world  but  to  make 
an  effect  on  an  occasion — to  make  myself  a  merit  with 
the  parson,  perhaps!  [Her  crying  seems  to  become  less 
of  anger  and  nervousness,  and  more  of  sorrow.]  Oh,  it 
is  too  bad!  One  would  imagine  I  never  said  a  decent 
thing  or  did  a  kind  act  to  anyone.  And,  Heaven  knows 
it's  not  for  lack  of  trying  to  change.  But  no  one  sees  the 
difference!  I  am  treated  like  a  vixen  and  a  terror.  And 
the  people  about  me  hate  and  fear  and  deceive  me!  A 
proof  of  it  to-night.  Oh,  the  lesson!  Oh,  I  wasn't 
meant  for  this!  I  wasn't  meant  for  it!  When  I  think 
of  last  Sunday's  sermon  and  how  straight  to  my  heart 
it  went.  Oh,  I  am  a  fool  to  cry !  [Dries  her  eyes,  and 
holds  out  her  hand  to  TIBBIE.]  Come  here  to  me,  dear 
child.  What  is  your  name?  What?  A  little  louder! 
What  did  you  say?  Tibbie!  Oh,  what  a  nice,  funny 
name!  You  didn't  think  I  was  going  to  scold  you,  did 
you,  dear?  Of  course  not!  It  was  an  accident;  I  under- 
stand all  about  it.  I  used  to  break  my  dolls'  heads  fre- 
quently, I  remember  very  well.  [Puts  her  arm  about 
TIBBIE  and  tries  to  make  her  head  easy  on  her  shoulder. 
TIBBIE,  however,  cannot  relax,  and  rests  uncomfortably 
against  her.]  Let  us  see,  dear,  now,  what  we  can  do  to 
make  us  both  feel  happier.  I  dressed  all  those  dolls  for 


THE  HUNDRED  3" 

little  children  I  am  not  acquainted  with  at  all.  Which 
of  them  would  you  like  the  very  best?  Which  should 
you  like  for  your  very  own  ? 

[TIBBIE  cannot  move  nor  speak,  but  her  eyes 
travel  towards  the  dolls, 

SALLY  [comes  beamingly  to  TIBBIE'S  aid].  The 
bride,  Tibbie,  the  bride! 

MRS.  D.  The  bride?  Which  one  is  that?  That  one? 
Of  course!  [Reaches  for  it,  and  SALLY  hands  it  to  her.] 
There,  my  dear.  [TlBBiE  takes  the  doll  loosely,  without 
breath  of  thanks.  MRS.  D.  reviews  the  dolls,  and  TIB- 
BIE'S hand  is  stretched  involuntarily  towards  the  broken 
one.]  Of  course,  of  course,  you  would  want  that  poor 
dolly  to  nurse  back  to  health.  Now,  dear,  isn't  there 
one  more  you  would  like?  [TlBBlE's  confusion  over- 
whelms her.]  I'll  choose  one  for  you,  and  you  shall  call 
her  Cynthia,  after  me.  How  would  you  like  that?  Sup- 
pose we  say  this  one  with  the  forget-me-nots?  She  looks 
a  little  like  me,  doesn't  she,  with  her  hair  parted  in  the 
middle?  Her  dress  is  made  of  a  piece  of  one  of  my  own, 
and  that  blue  is  my  favorite  color.  [Rising.]  There, 
Tibbie,  now  you  have  two  whole  dollies,  and  part  of 
another.  You  must  run  right  home  to  bed.  A  Merry 
Christmas  to  you,  dear  child.  I  am  very  happy  to  have 
made  your  acquaintance. 

TIBBIE  [shyly,  but  heartily].  I  think  you  are  good — 
good.  And,  please, — I'd  like — if  you  wouldn't  mind — I'd 
like  to  kiss  you! 

[MRS.  DARLING  bends  suddenly,  and  catches 
the  child  in  her  arms. 

CURTAIN 


NOTES  ON  COSTUME  AND  PRESENTATION 

MRS.  DARLING.     Evening  dress. 

BONNET  and  CATHERINE  wear  black,  with  white 
maid's  apron,  collar,  and  cuffs.  Outdoor  costume  as  indi- 
cated. 

MRS.  McGRATH.  Shawl  and  bonnet  with  no  attempt 
at  prevailing  styles.  Stout,  rosy,  motherly,  and  com- 
fortable. 

SALLY.  Pretty  and  wholesome-looking.  Appears  at 
first  in  a  limp  blue  kitchen-apron,  later  in  her  outdoor 
coat  and  hat,  neat,  but  cheap-looking. 

TIBBIE.  Old  dress,  very  neat  and  clean,  but  faded, 
and  with  an  outgrown,  hand-me-down  appearance.  She 
is  a  thin  and  half-fed  little  tenement-house  child,  to  whom 
the  luxury  of  Mrs.  Darling's  house  is  an  undreamed-of 
fairy-land. 

This  part  was  played  by  a  little  girl  of  nine,  who  de- 
lighted in  learning  and  acting  it.  A  bright  and  apprecia- 
tive child  can  do  it  without  undue  effort,  although  it  is, 
of  course,  the  important  role  of  the  play. 

THE  DOLLS.  The  number  of  dolls  need  not  be  over 
fifteen  or  twenty,  if  so  arranged  as  to  suggest  more  tiers 
hidden  from  view  at  the  back  of  the  couch.  They  should 
be  as  nearly  of  one  size  as  is  practicable,  though  uni- 
formity goes  no  further.  The  broken  one  should  be 
broken  first,  and  Tibbie  must  slip  it  to  the  floor  unno- 
ticed before  she  sits  down  to  rock  the  others. 


312 


GENERAL  NOTES 

FIREPLACE.  If  scenery  is  not  available,  the  fireplace 
used  in  this  play,  and  in  several  others,  can  easily  be 
built  up  from  packing-boxes  covered  with  cambric  (dull 
side  out),  the  bricks  or  tiles  marked  in  black  paint,  or 
even  with  ink.  A  valuable  and  effective  stage-property, 
used  when  "  Tom's  Plan  "  was  first  given,  and  in  many 
subsequent  plays,  was  an  old-fashioned  wooden  mantel, 
obtained  through  a  carpenter  who  was  tearing  down  an 
old  house.  This  may  be  a  suggestion  for  other  amateurs. 
A  small  screen  can  be  covered  with  cambric,  and  painted 
to  represent  the  back  of  the  fireplace,  an  opening  being 
left  at  one  side,  through  which  Santa  Claus,  in  "  Tom's 
Plan,"  "  The  Christmas  Brownie,"  and  "  Their  Christ- 
mas Party,"  makes  his  entrance.  Andirons,  with  logs 
and  a  red  electric  bulb,  will  make  a  very  pretty  and 
effective  fire.  In  "  Their  Christmas  Party,"  the  poor 
children  hide  in  the  fireplace,  and  the  "  Christmas 
Brownie  "  goes  in  and  out  several  times. 

SANTA  CLAUS.  Red  or  brown  coat,  trimmed  with 
ermine  (cotton,  or,  if  practicable,  some  real  fur)  ;  high 
boots;  cap  to  match  coat,  with  fur  brim.  He  wears  a 
string  of  sleigh  bells  over  his  shoulder,  and  carries  a  pack 
full  of  small  toys  for  distribution.  White  hair,  mus- 
tache, and  long  white  beard. 

In  these  plays,  in  which  Santa  Claus  has  often  an 
important  part,  do  not  on  any  account  allow  him  to  wear 
a  mask.  The  hair,  mustache,  and  beard,  with  a  good 

313 


3  H  GENERAL  NOTES 

rosy  make-up,  are  sufficient  disguise  for  him,  and  in  those 
cases  where  there  are  little  children  in  the  cast  whose 
literal  belief  in  Santa  Glaus  must  not  be  disturbed,  he 
is  not  indispensable  at  rehearsals.  Partly  because  he 
should  not  be  recognized,  an  adult  player  is  always  indi- 
cated for  this  part,  rather  than  an  older  boy,  who  is  apt 
to  be  in  more  intimate  touch  with  the  children. 

CHRISTMAS  TREE.  If  the  play  is  to  serve  as  introduc- 
tion to  a  Christmas  Tree,  the  tree  should  be  placed  as 
near  the  stage  as  possible.  When  the  play  is  over,  the 
lighted  tree  is  unveiled,  and  the  children  who  have  taken 
part  distribute  the  presents  under  the  leadership  of  Santa 
Claus.  Or,  if  found  more  practicable,  the  tree  may  be 
placed  in  another  room,  and  Santa  Claus  may  invite  the 
children  of  the  play  and  the  audience  to  go  with  him  in 
search  of  it.  An  appropriate  tree  song  may  be  sung  by 
the  whole  audience.  Reference  to  such  songs  may  be 
found  on  the  following  page. 


SUGGESTIONS  FOR  CAROLS 

SONGS  AND  GAMES  FOR  LITTLE  ONES.  Gertrude  Walker 
and  Harriet  S.  Jenks.  Oliver  Ditson  Company, 
Boston. 

Contains  a  number  of  useful  songs  and  carols,  among 
which  the  following  may  be  specially  mentioned : 
"Oh,  Ring,  Glad  Bells!"  (P.  58.) 
"  The  First  Christmas."     (P.  60.) 

Good  for  little  children. 
"  Noel,  Noel,  the  Christ  is  Born!  "     (P.  62.) 

Excellent  processional. 
"  A  Wonderful  Tree."     (P.  67.)  Tree  song. 

SONGS  FOR  LITTLE  CHILDREN.    Part  I.    Eleanor  Smith. 
Milton  Bradley  Co.,  Springfield,  Mass. 
"  In  Another  Land  and  Time."     (P.  31.) 
"Waken,  Little  Children."     (P.  33.) 

Very  simple.    Good  for  small  children. 
PART  II  of  the  same  contains  Santa  Claus  and  Jack  Frost 
songs. 

THE  NEW  HOSANNA.     New-Church  Board  of  Publica- 
tion, 3  West  29th  Street,  N.  Y. 
Has  a  good  tree  song: 

"  The  Christmas  Bells  in  Many  a  Clime  "     (  P.  4. ) 
For  little  children : 

"  Can  There  Be  a  Sweeter  Story?  "  (P.  21.) 
There  are  also  a  number  of  old  English  carols,  among 
them: 

"The  First  Nowell."     (P.  2.) 
315 


316  SUGGESTIONS  FOR  CAROLS 

"  Come,  Ye  Lofty,  Come,  Ye  Lowly."     (P.  23.) 
"  From  Far  Away  We  Come  to  You."     (P.  30.) 
Also  several  of  the  more  familiar  Christmas  hymns  to 
be  found  in  most  church  hymnals. 

For  old  music,  see  the  following: 

CHRISTMAS  CAROLS,  NEW  AND  OLD.     Novello  &  Com- 
pany. 
TWELVE  OLD  CAROLS,  ENGLISH  AND  FOREIGN.    Novello 

&  Company. 
FOLK  SONGS,  AND  OTHER  SONGS  FOR  CHILDREN.    Oliver 

Ditson  Company,  Boston. 

The  first  and  last  of  these  both  contain  "  Good  King 

Wenceslas,"  which  is  included  in  other  collections  as  well. 

Martin  Luther's  Christmas  hymn  for  his  own  children, 

which  is  very  good  for  small  children,  beginning  "  Away 

in  a  manger,"  is  in 

DAINTY  SONGS  FOR  LITTLE  LADS  AND  LASSES.     John 
Church  Company,  Cincinnati. 


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405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

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